A False Identity
by PrinceMittens
Summary: Piecing together all the tidbits of information she'd gathered so far, Byleth decides to take on Sothis's name to help her learn the secrets that she knew was being kept from her. The Goddess's attitude was easy to replicate, and the amnesia made it easy to explain why she didn't know anything. How could a Goddess side against her own church of worship? F!Byleth
1. (0) Sothis

"What happened?!" Seteth exclaimed. "The professor-?"

"She's breathing," Edelgard said quickly. "We did it. We killed them all. Solon. Kronya. What's happening to the professor? Why is she-?"

Seteth inhaled sharply as he seemed to finally internalize the professor's change in appearance. Her hair. That shade of green. It was the same color. Rhea's secret. Again. "You've done well. I'll take it from here. We must bring her to Lady Rhea."

Seteth held his arms out to take the professor's unconscious body. For a moment neither of them moved, Edelgard stood with her professor in her arms, the others standing behind watching. Then, as if the pause had never happened, Edelgard gently handed the body to the Church's second in command and bowed.

"Please keep us updated on the professor's status," Edelgard said courteously. "If there's anything we can do, please do not hesitate to call on us."

"Of course." Seteth easily hefted the professor in his arms and nodded. "The professor will be returned to you when she is recovered. For now, attend to yourselves. Food and rest is in order. I will call on you shortly, Lady Edelgard, for a more detailed report."

With that, the severe man turned and made straight for the stairs.

Edelgard watched him leave for several short moments before turning in the opposite direction to face her house. Hubert, who was standing next to her, did the same.

"Did you see the professor _cut the air with her sword_, like, _from another dimension?_ Guys, she literally _cut reality_!" Caspar burst out for the umpteenth time. "How am I the only one who actually sees how crazy that is?! Our professor is literally some kind of god!"

"God? But is not god a word used to be male?" Petra asked, confused. "I thought the word to speak was goddess?"

"God, goddess." Caspar said. "Same thing."

He stopped short when he noticed that no one else was saying anything. Most of them seemed too tired to even comment.

"Are you quite done?" Hubert asked, the distaste in his voice as souring as ever.

Caspar clamped his lips tightly together, holding back the retort he would normally have let loose in other occasions.

"Thank you Caspar." The head of the Black Eagle house said with a smile.

"I'm doing it for you, not for that greasy vampire," Caspar remarked.

"Again, thank you," Edelgard noted before addressing the rest of her house. "I want an after-battle report from each of you on my desk in half an hour so that I can compile a summary for Seteth. Get it done quickly before you eat or wash."

The group assented in their various ways and stalked off, some to their rooms, some up the stairs in the direction of the library. Edelgard watched them leave, watched the denizens of the church go about their business as if nothing had happened, like a bunch of kids hadn't just risked their lives and drenched their hands in blood for a conflict whose sides they didn't even completely understand. The blood still caked on the armor and clothes of the young Eagles seemed to not deter them in the least. It was a miracle none of them were hurt. A miracle that their professor's command abilities and education had kept every single one of them alive on the battlefield. Again.

Last year, eleven percent of the student population had graduated from the monastery in caskets. To weigh the risk of death against the almost-guaranteed status that was afforded to graduates of Garreg Mach's academy was not easy. It was the cost many were willing to pay. In a system of perpetual conflict, skilled killers were always in demand and premature death was the norm. Premature death and torture.

"I will be taking my leave," Hubert said with a bow, interrupting her from her thoughts. "You will have my report shortly."

"Yes," Edelgard said distractedly. "Thank you, Hubert."

* * *

She woke to the sound of soft singing. A song whose words were ethereal and timeless. The melody and lyrics were familiar. So familiar, but she couldn't quite place where she'd heard them before. It was rare for her to feel so at peace. It was like a split in her soul had healed, a split that had tormented her for so long that she didn't even know it was there until it was gone. Not a single dream had disrupted her sleep this time. No wars. No death. No girl with green hair sleeping atop a cold throne. Only peace and a song that made her warm and sad.

She thought of all the creatures of the world, past and present. Plowing through the dark, their lives coloring everything around them before burning away. A body inside a boat. A great hero sent off on his final journey down a solemn stream of rippling smooth water. All the thousands, millions of lives coming and going, each with a story. Each illuminating the world with its torch, its life. All of them were beautiful.

The tears sprung freely from behind her closed lids as the thought came and went. Still the song continued. The last words flowed seamlessly into the first, carrying the whole tune through to its beginning. Without realizing, Byleth began to hum, a duet to the melody sung slightly higher than the original.

_"In time's flow_  
_See the glow_  
_Of flames ever burning bright_  
_On a swift_  
_River's drift_  
_Broken memories alight"_

Rhea's song came to a stop. "You are awake," the Archbishop said, her voice caressing her ears, her heart. A hand gently smoothed her head and hair. Byleth smiled, exhaling audibly through her nose to acknowledge that she was aware. She remembered now. This was Sothis's song. Sothis, the goddess. The beginning. Who'd written this very song. Who'd sung it in a time long gone.

The night of the ball when they had followed Lady Rhea to a lone balcony had been the night that the little goddess had declared her memories to have returned. She remembered everything, but had told Byleth nothing about her or about Rhea. Then they had merged into one after their encounter with Solon, yet Byleth was still Byleth. Sothis's memories remained hidden from her. She still knew nothing. Who was the Archbishop and what was her connection to Sothis?

All these thoughts and questions passed through her mind in the span of a single second, and a sudden inspiration came to her. "Lady Rhea, how do you know that song?"

"That song?" Rhea asked.

"My song," Byleth said. "I wrote it, though I don't remember when."

"What do you mean you wrote it?"

"I wrote that song," Byleth stated. "Long ago, when people called me Sothis."

"Professor, if this is a joke…"

"Do I look like one to joke?" Byleth demanded, making a perfect impression of the Sothis she knew. She flicked her eyes open and glared directly into the Archbishop's green irises. "No. I am Byleth Eisner. But I am also Sothis. Though I can't seem to remember much. It's all so very fuzzy. Something happened a thousand years ago, in a place I used to call home. Who are you, Lady Rhea? I've met you as Byleth Eisner but… there's something to you that's familiar to the other part of me. To Sothis."

"I- I am-!" The Archbishop's joy and astonishment was a sight to behold as she stuttered in her rush to explain. Unfortunately, she managed to collect herself before she could spill all her secrets. "Do you really not remember?"

"You feel... familiar," Byleth declared in the Sothis-like manner that she was used to. "Like a word I can almost remember but cannot speak. Since you seem to know my history, you will tell me everything. I wish to remember."

The Archbishop hesitated, secrets on the tip of her tongue - reluctant to be spilled after having been kept so tight for so long. It was all Byleth could do to keep herself from prodding the mysterious matriarch any more than she needed to. They taunted her, the secrets of the monastery, of the church of Seiros, of Rhea herself - the reason her father had left the knights of Seiros, the reason that the greatest warrior she'd ever known was afraid of this gentle, green-haired woman. And her mother. What happened to her mother?

"I am sorry," Rhea said with her lids half closed, as if she were ashamed. "I cannot help you. Please continue to play the part of Professor Eisner for now."

"What?"

"I must-" Rhea hesitated. "I must think on it. A thousand years it took to bring everything to this point and… the peace of the land depends on it. I must think and not act impulsively. I am truly sorry, Professor."

"I see." Byleth sat up crawled to the edge of the massive bed and put her feet to the floor.

"You may stay for as long as you wish." Rhea offered in what almost sounded like a plea.

Byleth shook her head and decided it would be good not to push too hard at this juncture. "Goodbye, Lady Rhea."

As she approached the door to leave, a voice cried out suddenly from behind her. "Mother!"

Byleth stopped, turned, and saw. Rhea was staring at her, appraising her, waiting for a reaction.

"Mother?" Byleth asked with genuine confusion.

"It is nothing." Rhea looked away. "Come to my chamber later tonight after the students have turned in. I… never mind. Come to my chamber. I will be waiting."

The Archbishop was unwilling to speak any more. Byleth observed a second longer: the great Archbishop sitting on her giant canopied mattress looking disheveled and conflicted. It made her feel strangely guilty. For now, she decided to not think too hard on it. It sufficed to know that the wheels were finally in motion. As she made her way down the stairs, it occurred to her that she didn't know what day it was. How much time had passed since her battle with Solon? Who was teaching her class in her absence? A sudden desire to check on her students overtook the impassioned professor, and her steps took on a renewed vigor.


	2. (1) Questions

It was barely midday, and she was drawing a lot more eyes than usual. She'd been stared at before and was no stranger to the attention. But other than the Sword of the Creator that now glowed brightly at her hip, she wasn't really sure what they were looking at.

"Whoa Professor! Haven't seen you in days! What happened?! Are you okay?"

Byleth recognized the voice. It was Dorothea. She was accompanied by Hilda from the Golden Deers house. Not so odd a pair, in Byleth's estimation.

"You've changed," Dorothea remarked.

"Your hair!" Hilda chimed in. "It's green!"

"Oh!" Dorothea gasped. "Her eyes too! What happened?"

Byleth blinked, suddenly wishing for a mirror. "I'm not sure," she answered. "What day is it?"

"It's the fourth day of the second month," Dorothea answered. "We're in Pegasus Moon right now."

Five days since the events of the forest.

"The battle…" Byleth started to ask.

"Everyone's fine," Dorothea supplied helpfully. "We've been sitting in with the Golden Deers for joint lectures. What about you, Professor? You must tell me what happened to you. You look… like a goddess floating in the clouds."

"Oooh, Dorothea, I didn't know you were so poetic," Hilda teased.

Byleth thought for a moment before responding. "I'm sure you have questions. I will answer them all. For now, I want all the Black Eagles gathered in the classroom by the second afternoon bell. Is that understood?"

"Yes Professor," Dorothea answered sweetly.

"Good." Byleth nodded in acknowledgment. "I'm glad you're safe, Dorothea."

Dorothea smiled, her face a practiced flush. "Thank you Professor. I will help notify the rest of the class."

* * *

Byleth yawned, stretching her arms out before placing her elbow on the podium and resting her face to a palm in a familiar, pensive position. The Eagles were gathered eagerly in their seats, waiting, and Byleth couldn't help but make special note of the fact that even Linhardt seemed to be paying attention.

"Hmmm. Whatever shall we do with you?" she queried, noting the two figures standing in the back.

There was a moment of silent shock as heads began to turn. It was the first time any of them had ever heard anyone speak to the Archbishop and her retainer in that way. The shift in power dynamic between their professor and the Church's highest command was palpable in that single question.

"I recall asking only for Black Eagles to gather in this classroom," Byleth commented.

"Professor Eisner!" Seteth started to say indignantly. "The Archbishop will not-!"

"Seteth, it is fine," Rhea said serenely with a restraining hand on her attendant's elbow. "If you don't mind my curiosity, Professor, I heard you were holding a question-answer session with your students on the events that occurred in the forest five days ago. I would also like to know of all that transpired at the forest. Hearing your answers here would save us much time and many repeated questions in our later session, would it not?"

Fear. Now that was familiar. In battle, the slightest misstep meant death. Here, a misstep meant the whole game she'd recently erected would come crashing down with consequences Byleth couldn't yet fathom.

"I do not mind," Byleth replied. "Your questions shall be answered. Privately. I would like to be alone with my children."

"I see," the Archbishop's smile did not falter. "My apologies for interrupting your class, then, Professor. I will be expecting you later tonight, as agreed."

"Thank you," Byleth said. Did Sothis ever thank her subjects? She wasn't sure. It just sounded like the right kind of thing to say. In any case, it was something Byleth would have said, and she did have the excuse of being part Byleth.

The Archbishop took her leave, Seteth following in silence and closing the classroom door behind them. The man's sharp tone could be heard muffled through the door as they walked away.

Byleth straightened, returning herself to her usual posture. The drowsy persona she'd played dissipating into the standard controlled demeanor she was known for. "Usually it is Ferdinand or Caspar who I have to scold for overstepping into enemy range without proper support and breaking formation," she started to say. "I expected better from you, Edelgard."

The princess flushed and briefly looked askance in shame.

The students, having expected a question answer session on the subject of their professor's new colors, found themselves in their professor's usual after-battle critique instead. Linhardt drooped, his face landing directly into the center of his desk.

"Professor."

"Yes, Caspar?"

"Edelgard's already done a review with us while you were gone so, uh, can we-?"

"No." Byleth stared blankly at the boy. Caspar stared back. "The only reason all of you are still alive is because we are thorough and leave absolutely nothing to fate. While I'm sure Edelgard here is more than competent, she isn't me. Now, Edelgard's battalion formation…" Byleth took a piece of chalk, made her way to the chalkboard and began to draw a diagram. "You know what I'm talking about, don't you? The casualties suffered by Jeralt's mercenaries - my mercenaries - are unacceptable. There's a reason I've had them drill with the Seiros archers under Bernadetta's command. If you had used them in tandem like you were supposed to, the enemy wouldn't have been able to snipe so many of my men. Your lives aren't the only ones at stake. How many times have I told you that?"

As someone who cherished human life, Crest or no Crest, noble or common, the Imperial Princess was clearly stung by Byleth's words.

"I want you to explain your thought process."

"I was only thinking of my classmates. I... I have no excuse," Edelgard answered with as much dignity as she could muster. "

"I didn't ask for one."

And so the lesson began in earnest.

* * *

Byleth decided to dedicate the last twenty minutes of her class to answering student questions.

"So why are your hair and your eyes green, Professor?" Ferdinand asked

"I do not know," Byleth answered.

"Surely you must have a guess," Ferdinand prodded

"I do not," Byleth answered.

"But if you had to guess, then what would your guess be?" Dorothea chimed in.

"It has something to do with the goddess." Byleth guessed.

"Why not red?" Caspar asked. "Or black?"

"I do not have the answer to that question,"

"The Goddess is green?" Petra volunteered.

"It would appear so," Byleth answered.

The next questions came in quick succession.

"What happened when Solon sent you away?"

"Where did you go?"

"How did you escape?"

"I was in a dark place," Byleth replied. "Don't know where. I escaped by cutting a tear into space time with my sword and using it as an exit."

There was an interval of silence that followed the answer.

"That doesn't tell us anything," Linhardt objected. "Where did you get the power to cut space time?"

"The goddess gave it to me."

"Why?"

"She wanted to."

The answer earned Byleth another brief respite.

"We would appreciate it if you'd simply tell us as much as you can and to the best of your abilities, Professor," Edelgard said impatiently. "At this point, you're just dodging our questions."

"Am I?"

"Will you or will you not tell us what we wish to know?" Hubert asked in an inadvertently threatening tone.

"I will. If you ask the right questions," Byleth answered to the vocal exasperation of his class. "Think of it as an exercise in speech formulation. Very important if you wish to do well in the world. Especially as future leaders."

"I've got one," Dorothea sang. "Who is your greatest romantic interest at the moment?"

Byleth blinked, her eyes performing a lightning flicker to the figure sitting at the very front of her classroom.

"I have no romantic interests at the moment."

"No way, I don't believe you." Dorothea pressed.

"It's the truth. If I receive any more questions not pertaining to the forest incident and its aftermath, I will cut this question-answer session short. Next question please."

"Pooh," Dorothea pouted under her breath. "You're no fun."

For the remainder of class, the Black Eagles found themselves once again contending with the fact that their usually taciturn professor could be just as adept with words as she was with weaponry and battlefield tactics.

* * *

The library was warm and quiet. The large oaken doors, the only entrance into and out of the room, were closed and barred. It was the one of few places where secrets could be discussed. It was also the place where Solon had chosen to reside in his guise as Tomas.

"She has ties with the goddess."

"Yes. It is now more pressing than ever to have her eliminated. The risk she poses against our cause is much too great."

"Hmm," Edelgard hummed, reluctant to agree.

"To face her in the upcoming war could mean the death of many of our imperial brethren. Citizens and soldiers, men and women, who give their lives to fight for our cause," Hubert continued. "Are you willing to bear the burden of that sacrifice?"

"Hubert please," Edelgard said, her head in her hands. "Do not try guilting me with information I already know."

"My apologies," Hubert bowed. "I am well aware of the potential boon that our dear professor could provide. However, the chances that she would be willing to side with us is growing slimmer by the day. The Archbishop's influence is strong."

"And our professor's will is equally strong. Her sense of right and wrong is not so easily swayed by convenient ideology."

"That fact could argue as easily in her favor as against it. You've revealed so much to her already, yet the signs that she could be sympathetic to our cause remain few and far between."

"Professor Eisner is notoriously difficult to read."

"You seem to believe you are able to read her all the same."

"What are you trying to say?" Edelgard asked.

"Well..." Hubert meandered on his word, much to his listener's annoyance.

"What? Say it."

"I will be blunt. You are infatuated with the Professor, are you not?"

"That is- Hubert!"

"She does have her charms. Her natural-born talents, her goddess-given powers, all very... inspiring."

"Hubert, if she chooses to side against me, I will not hesitate to kill her. Isn't that enough?"

"By the time she chooses the other side, our chances to kill her will have diminished exponentially. Give me the order, Lady Edelgard, and this threat to our future-"

"I will ask her to witness the moment I take the crown and ascend the throne," Edelgard interrupted. "I wish for her to meet my father. If she accepts the request, I want you to help pre-select our room arrangements and escort detail. The Professor is to be kept in the dark."

"Aah," Hubert sounded in understanding. "I see. And when she is in our dominion away from the safety of the church-"

"No," Edelgar interjected. "I wish to afford her the opportunity to make the choice of her own free will."

"You wish to reveal as much as you are able and leave nothing on the table." Hubert summarized accurately. "The lengths to which you would go for this woman..."

"Jealousy is unbecoming of you, Hubert."

"Jealousy. Is that what you think it is?" Hubert put a hand to his chin. "Perhaps. I will be taking my leave then. My detachment is waiting. I will make all the necessary preparations and will eagerly await your arrival at the Imperial palace. I beg you please consider my point of view while I am gone. Farewell."

"Farewell, my friend," Edelgard said with a nod. "Oh and Hubert?"

The dark mage paused in his departure. "Yes your highness?"

"Thank you for everything."

"Think nothing of it," Hubert deflected, the passion in his voice clear and honest. "To serve you, Lady Edelgard, is the single greatest pleasure I can conceive of."


	3. (1) Interrogation

"You claim to be the goddess," Seteth began cynically. Byleth found it difficult to not ask the Archbishop why Seteth was sitting in on this session. Seteth was an undesirable variable. It wasn't that the addition of Lady Rhea's retainer didn't make the situation impossible, it would just be that much more difficult. Then again, the confrontation was probably inevitable.

"Goddess… yes. I have been referred to as such." Byleth affirmed. "I am the goddess, Sothis. I have also been called the beginning."

Seteth was stunned into silence for a moment, but managed to quickly overcome his apparent shock. "Your claim is… hard to believe."

"You are cynical," Byleth noted aloud, remembering Sothis to be the open-book type. She also remembered Sothis to be the type to be easily annoyed, especially when confronted with what she considered to be nonsense. As to what would qualify as nonsense to the goddess... "On what basis?"

Seteth crossed his arms. "That's the question I should be asking you. On what basis do you claim to be Sothis?" Rhea, for her part, stood separately on the side, staring silently and unabashedly at Byleth's face. It was as if she were trying to project some kind of image.

"Strange," Byleth said slowly. She recalled Lady Rhea's outburst from earlier that day. _Mother_. And then the expectant look, waiting for recognition. Did Lady Rhea know the goddess personally? "I don't recall ever being questioned in this manner before." Byleth pondered. "I don't think I shall ever grow accustomed to the insolence of mortals."

"Mortals?!" Seteth looked quickly toward Lady Rhea, as if expecting her response.

"Archbishop Rhea. I recall your wishing to know what happened in the forest," Byleth said, ignoring Seteth's outcry. "I am not here to be insulted."

"I apologize," the Archbishop inclined her head, her uncomfortable stare finally dipping away. "Please forgive us for questioning. The goddess has not walked the earth in over a thousand years. It is only natural to doubt. Let us proceed, if you will. As we've agreed, I am receiving a report of all that transpired five days ago. Think of it as the usual after-action report that Professor Eisner would deliver."

"And in return?" Byleth asked, seizing on the opportunity presented to her.

"In return," the Archbishop closed her eyes, the gravity in her bearing enunciating the difficult decision she was about to make. "In return, I will divulge what I know. So please, tell us what you know. This is very important to me. The goddess, Sothis… She was my mother."

Seteth closed his eyes with a look that appeared a mixture of acceptance and defeat.

"I am...your mother?"

"Yes!" Rhea's green eyes flared. "Once upon a time."

"I- hmmm. I do not seem to be able to remember." Byleth examined the Archbishop's countenance curiously and frowned as she did her best to ignore the feeling of guilt that came with lying. She then decided to hazard a guess. "I've had many children. Yes, that is correct. I've had many children, and I loved them all equally."

"Oh, mother," Rhea lamented, to Byleth's internal relief.

Seteth for his part was staring at his shoes with his arms still crossed. _Good_.

And then Byleth began her story, describing truthfully all that had occurred in the forest up to the part where she was sent into the darkness.

"I do believe he meant for me to remain in that place for eternity, then… then it came to me. My powers. I knew it to be mine and that I was me. The rest is history."

Unlike the students, neither Rhea nor Seteth followed that with an inopportune '_Why?'_

Her narrative finished, Byleth waited for her audience to respond.

"What do you remember?" Rhea asked hopefully.

"I remember…" Byleth replayed all her interactions with Sothis. "I remember the Red Canyon."

There was a visible change in her audiences' faces.

"That it used to be my home. That it has a feeling of great sadness and joy attached to it. Beyond that… I was hoping you could help me remember."

"And I am hoping I can be of assistance," Rhea replied with a nod. "Seteth, I believe Flayn is still waiting outside. Would you please have her join us?"

"It will be done," Seteth replied and brusquely went to the door. The girl primly entered the Archbishop's chamber and bowed. "Lady Rhea, professor."

"Flayn…" Byleth mused; she was somehow not surprised as all the not-so-subtle hints of Flayn's otherworldly nature began to make just that much more sense.

"What is going on?" Flayn asked innocently.

"Flayn," Seteth answered. "I haven't told you because it's... well, it's not pleasant, but the sum of it is, the professor here is the result of a union between Jeralt Eisner and a living vessel that Rhea created in hopes of reviving the goddess. Rhea implanted the goddess's heart inside Jeralt's daughter at birth in hopes of resurrecting her."

"I see." The girl's eyes widened with surprise, but she made no other overt response. What was one supposed to say to such a sudden influx of information?

"Even I only heard the truth five days ago," Seteth said, shaking his head, and the level of wariness that Byleth felt towards the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros jumped to an almost irreconcilable height. Just how many truths did the woman hold? How many untruths? Even Seteth, her most trusted advisor, had been kept in the dark. And for how long? Longer than Byleth had been alive, that's for sure.

"Is that why the professor's appearance-?" Flayn asked.

"It would appear so," Rhea answered, glancing toward Byleth. "You are my thirteenth attempt."

"Thirteenth?!" Seteth exclaimed. "Just how long has this been going on, Rhea?"

"Allow me to explain," Rhea's voice waned apologetically. "The first living vessel was created three hundred years after I founded the Church. That vessel was the first to hold the heart of the goddess. Professor Eisner here will be the last."

A myriad of questions rose to Byleth's attention. What did it mean that Lady Rhea founded the Church? Is that even possible? How old was Lady Rhea? Who were these people? On the exterior, Byleth maintained her normal demeanor, playing the part of a curious listener.

"I know what you are thinking, my friends," Rhea continued. "You think that I am obsessed. That I have perhaps gone too far in this personal venture of mine. Perhaps I have, but the results speak for themselves. The goddess is here, now."

"She… she is?!" Flayn's eyes glued themselves to Byleth's face like a magnet. "But… this afternoon… she's still our professor, right?"

"She is indeed," Rhea explained. "Our professor now holds the goddess's consciousness, alongside her own. Her memories as the goddess, however, are incomplete.

Unsurprising, given the nature of the goddess. I brought you here so that you could help her remember. Mother has said that she wished to remember. Isn't that right, Mother?"

"Mother… hearing that word from you feels strange to me. " Byleth answered, uncomfortable with being called mother by the woman who she personally thought of in a similar capacity. "Though I do find it fascinating. You say you are my children yet I have no memory of you."

"To be precise, I am your most direct descendant. Seteth and Flayn came to being some generations down the line. There were many more of our kind a thousand years ago before the Red Canyon. Do you not remember me, Mother? It is I, the Immaculate One. You gave me that name yourself, for my spotless white color."

Byleth shook her head, and felt a pang at Lady Rhea's apparent disappointment. "What happened at the Red Canyon a thousand years ago?" she asked.

There was a silence which gave weight to the heavy topic. Rhea seemed unwilling to speak on the subject, and Seteth seemed to be deferring to Rhea's permission to speak. It was Flayn who finally answered.

"The Tragedy of the Red Canyon," she said uncertainly. "And then the war."

"First, I believe introductions are in order," Seteth joined and then bowed. "My true name is the Earth Dweller. I have also been known in another time as Cichol."

"And this is my daughter," Seteth gestured toward Flayn, who bowed.

"I am Cethlean. The goddess did not grace me with a name."

"Why not?" Byleth asked, the fact that this was Saint Cethlean did not surprise her all that much. Flayn's character was a little too honest, and she ended up letting slip numerous subtle hints and tells during her time with the Black Eagles. The Archbishop on the other hand...

"I have never met her," Flayn answered sadly. "The goddess was sleeping when I was born, and before she could awaken, well..." The girl looked toward the Archbishop with a questioning look.

"Nemesis happened." Rhea growled. It reminded Byleth somehow of Dimitri. The Black Eagles had returned from Remire Village and word of the incident with Solon had permeated the ranks. The patrol that night had notified her of a terrifying noise coming from the training ground, prompting her to make her way there. Under the light of a dimly lit torch, she had found him bashing at a training dummy with a hatred she'd never encountered before. The graceful, upstanding prince was surrounded by a litter of broken training weapons and a ring of sweat. She could faintly see blood running down the shaft of his weapon from the tears in his palm. The dummy itself remained barely standing as Dimitri swung at it with uncharacteristic fury, growling under his breath with each strike before discovering Byleth's presence.

She didn't know that Rhea was capable of such an emotion.

"He stole your heart and used it to kill my people. Turned their bodies into Crest Stone weapons. Slaughtered _everyone_. I lost _everything_."

"Lady Rhea," Seteth said. "The past cannot be changed, no matter how we might wish to do so."

"Yes," Rhea agreed, calming herself quickly. "And now, after a thousand years of waiting, of trying everything that I could think of, the goddess walks this earth once more. My mother. I've waited for this moment for so long. Oh how I've missed you, mother."

Byleth awkwardly accepted the Archbishop's passionate embrace, her mind racing. There was a lot to think about. A thousand years ago. The same time that the Church was founded. Saint Cethlean and Saint Cichol were here. And Saint Seiros, the Church's founder?

"You're Saint Seiros, aren't you?" Byleth guessed.

"Yes," Rhea confirmed, still holding her supposed mother. "It is I who founded the Church of Seiros and propagated the Church's beliefs."

Something about that statement left an acrid taste in Byleth's mouth.

"My child," Byleth said, gently extracting herself from the Archbishop's clingy arms. "I may be your mother in spirit, but I have little recollection of our bond. You must also remember that I am Byleth Eisner as much as I am Sothis. In fact, I am more Byleth Eisner than Sothis in terms of living memory."

"Of course, I-" Rhea took a step back and readjusted her robes and demeanor. "Excuse me, professor. I apologize for what came over me. Your mannerisms and your appearance remind me strongly of the mother I had lost. I simply could not restrain myself."

"Quite understandable," Byleth answered. "I would like to know what happened to _my_ mother. To Byleth Eisner's mother. I would also like to know the reason you founded the Church of Seiros. Even just two months ago, we routed a group at Rhodos Coast. Zealots who dedicated their lives to the Church's beliefs - who killed... in the name of Saint Cichol."

Byleth looked questioningly at Seteth, at Saint Cichol himself. The man closed his eyes and furrowed his brows, arms stiffening in their crossed position.

"Such is the nature of religious fervor," Rhea said calmly. "The Church, the religion, all of it was set in preparation for you. For when you are finally returned to us."

"For me?" Byleth asked. "How?"

"A thousand years ago, Nemesis gathered an army to oppose us. People who wished to slay the goddess and all her children. Such heretical disrespect could only have existed because they have not been taught otherwise. They did not understand the gravity of their transgression or the gratitude they should feel toward the very goddess against whom they'd raised their arms. Now, in this new world, the goddess is revered. Respected. None would dare openly oppose her. The Church of Seiros is her sword and her shield, as are its believers. The Tragedy of the Red Canyon, the travesty of such mortal sin, will _never_ happen again. I have made sure of it."

Byleth let out a silent, shaky breath. Was this what Sothis would have wanted? Byleth didn't know. To wander carelessly into unknown territory meant to risk traipsing unwittingly into any number of unpredictable traps. Was it what Byleth would have wanted? She thought of the poor zealots that they'd had to kill. People whose lives were given entirely to the Church. The priests and nuns of the Church were born to live and breathe the Church's ideas. They died under the Church's wings, most of their living hours spent practicing belief in what was ultimately untrue. Solely for the sake of making the world safe for Sothis's return.

There was another side to this coin which Byleth did not have the mental wherewithal to ponder at the moment.

"What about my mother?" Byleth asked.

"Your mother," Rhea said. "Yes, I shall tell you of your mother, professor. Her name was Sitri. She was my creation. Twelfth to bear the goddess's heart."

"You killed her because she failed to manifest Sothis. That's why my father left the Knights."

"Oh child," Rhea smiled, shaking her head. "You think so poorly of me. I would never murder a living soul for such a selfish reason. Sitri was like a daughter to me, as were all my creations. Many have lived long and have died peacefully within the walls of this very monastery. Their lives were their own. Your mother, on the other hand… her life was cut short giving birth to you. You were both dying after the procedure, and she begged me to save you, to give you the goddess's heart so that you may live."

"The goddess's heart… she knew?" Byleth asked.

"I kept very few secrets from my children," Rhea said. "They loved me as much as I loved them."

"I…thank you for telling me," Byleth said.

"Have you yet to remember any further details with regard to your past as the goddess?" Flayn asked curiously. "Have we been of any help?"

Byleth shook her head. "The details still elude me."

"Professor," Rhea said, a hint of sternness in her voice. "I am sure you understand the importance of keeping what we've discussed tonight from all but those present here."

Byleth responded by unblinkingly examining the three Saints of the Church. The amount of information to be processed was heavy, and she was sure she would be spending the night awake and thinking. Three pairs of eyes stared back at her carefully, waiting for her to say something in agreement. "I can see why you were hesitant to tell me," she offered.

"Some of what we've discussed here could harm the foundations of the Church, and in the wrong hands, could throw Fodlan into chaos, war even." Seteth explained, though his explanation was not necessary.

"Mmm." Byleth yawned. Stretching an arm over her head. "This is all making me feel ever so sleepy. I have much to think about."

"You are tired," Rhea noted. "Seteth, would you terribly mind escorting the professor to her room?"

"Of course not," Seteth said, bowing in acquiescence. "I will return shortly. We have matters to discuss. Come along Flayn. Let us see you both to bed."

"One moment," Byleth said, her attention on Rhea. "I am sorry that I don't remember. I wish I did. Truly."

"In time," the Archbishop replied with a warm, satisfied smile. "In time, I am sure you will. Good night, mother."

* * *

**FOOTNOTES**

* * *

(1) Seriously, even Seteth didn't know about the heart-transplant experiments, and Rhea's been running that experiment for hundreds of years. That she kept such a huge secret from such a longtime friend (1000+ years!) must've felt like betrayal to him and certainly explains why Seteth's friendship with Rhea went south during the Pegasus Moon chapter


	4. (1) Contemplation

Seteth and Flayn did not strike her as deceptive types. They hid their identities, but they seemed to be otherwise honest people. Flayn, for example, never lied about her age, choosing to avoid the question instead. If she would just give a false number, no one would think twice about it. These were the types of detail that made Byleth feel a little better about allowing herself to lend some trust to the father-daughter pair.

The Archbishop was a different story. She could be loving and honest, but she could also be wrathful, conceited and deceitful. Jeralt had summed it up with one word. Lady Rhea was terrifying. Secrets swirled beneath that calm, motherly exterior, a storm waiting to happen.

Byleth felt her eyelids droop heavily. Her earlier disposition hadn't been a lie. She was strangely tired. _Keep thinking._

Those who lived Church doctrine lived a lie. It was as if they hadn't lived at all. She pictured Marianne, forfeiting all she could be to a single-minded devotion to the Church and to the Goddess. Years given to the monastery were also years that she would never have again, her precious life wasted in meaningless pursuit.

Byleth had a sneaking suspicion that Rhea knew and didn't care. Was there a greater good? The peace of Fodlan? She remembered a statistic that one of her students had brought up once during one of her lectures. Last year, eleven percent of the student population had died under Garreg Mach's tutelage. Was this what peace looked like?

Byleth didn't know. She'd killed more in a year alone in her past life. Things could be worse. Compared to the small but frequent skirmishes, a continental war was far more disastrous for everyone.

Maybe this was the reason for Seteth's own heavy hand in keeping the organization afloat. The man was very open about his thoughts and emotions. His overeager willingness to voice his opinions on things had given him a reputation of being stiff and sour. He held to his beliefs, his stalwart sense of justice. He definitely cared about people's well-being and he was clearly of the opinion that Fodlan was better off under the influence of the Church than not.

Rhea, on the other hand, seemed to only care about her mother. Even now, someone out there was praying to the goddess, putting their fate in her hands. It made Byleth feel a tinge of guilt. Sothis neither heard nor answered those prayers. Byleth knew that to be true beyond doubt. If the goddess did answer prayers to her name, then there would not be as much tragedy across the land. Students wouldn't be turned into Crest-stone Beasts. Remire village wouldn't have happened. Sothis was powerful, but she was not omnipotent.

Byleth suppressed a yawn. _There must be a reason_, she thought sleepily, and decided that it might be better to give in to sleep for now. Her mind was being sluggish anyway; she needed to decide what all this information meant and what conclusions she should draw from them.

_Tomorrow, _she concluded. _For now, sleep_.

...

...

_A dream._

_A small, ghostly girl wreathed in blue flames, standing before the hero wielding a long, golden blade. The aftermath of a great battle. The end of a long war. In a large chamber whose air is permeated with a dim, ethereal aura, two beings stand apart._

"_This world does not need gods," the girl says slowly. Her voice is heavy and filled with regret. "We have always failed you. We've made you weak. That's why we must go."_

_The chamber echoes coldly with her words, words marked with finality. The flames simmer, its light diminishing slowly. The girl is ashamed of her own existence, and her words are words of farewell._

"_You don't have to leave," the hero says to the girl. "It's true. We don't have much use for gods. But, well… You show us what we should aspire to. We need inspiration. You give us a reason to grow. To become more than we are. And if we don't have that, Yune, we'd be nothing more than… statues."_

"_Can you forgive me for the pain I've caused?" the girl asks slowly._

"_I don't know. But you have already forgiven us. How could we not? We are all family. We will try to understand one another. Even when we disagree."_

"_You're right," the girl nods gratefully. "I will try. One more time."_

* * *

Of the over three hundred first-year students at the Academy, only eight students per house would be officially enrolled as house representatives. The rest either dropped out or continued another year of education toward a more minor role. The continued students were usually assigned to one of the Church's battalions. Those who scored high but were not selected were allowed to serve as student-adjutants for their house of choice.

Of course, she was among the top scoring students, tying for first with four others.

For the two years she had been enrolled as a student of the Academy, Edelgard had never neglected a single article of coursework. She always started and finished her assignments early, giving herself ample time to think over the material and really learn what she was being taught. She never idled.

At least not until now. It would be her last month at the monastery. With the invasion of Garreg Mach planned for the end of the month, schoolwork no longer mattered. All that needed to be done at this time was to seize the throne and start the invasion, the war. Most of the Imperial forces had already pledged allegiance to her, and those not in the know were already set to be deposed. Her escort detail waited outside the gates. They would be there until nightfall, ready to take her back to the Imperial palace. She was ready.

But she couldn't leave. Not yet.

She still had to speak to the professor and ask her to witness the coronation.

Edelgard remained near the front entrance, unmoving as she pondered her next move. Just the day before, Lady Rhea had assembled their class and revealed that their professor was to undergo an important ceremony inside the Holy Tomb. She was to receive revelation from the goddess. It'd given her a sinking feeling of dread. The professor had become as much a part of the Church as Archbishop Rhea herself. Their matching hair and eyes, the goddess's powers, her obedience of the Archbishop's every whim. The probability that Professor Eisner would side with the Empire seemed increasingly infinitesimal the more she thought about it.

It was the reason she was standing there, waiting. She was afraid to ask. Her duty demanded she have Professor Eisner assassinated, which meant that if the professor accepted her request, it could mean her death.

Which wasn't fair because the professor hadn't even been given the opportunity to choose, though as of that very moment, Edelgard was certain that the professor would not side against the Church. To side against the Church was to turn against the students and the staff. Seteth, Flayn, Rhea, the Blue Lions, the Golden Deer, the Black Eagles, the Knights of Seiros... all of them would become enemies. Edelgard tried to imagine the professor cutting down Dorothea or Ferdinand and failed to elicit the image. If only her words and actions could sway the professor to her side. The situation was hopeless. There had to be another way.

The princess remained lost in thought. Afraid to invite the professor. A rejection would almost certainly mean that they were to be fighting on opposite sides. Acceptance, on the other hand, meant assassination. Neither outcomes were desirable. But there was still a chance. Maybe she was presuming too much. The professor was intelligent. If she could frame everything just right, maybe she could get the professor to understand. It had been her original plan anyhow.

So her thoughts cycled. Through hope, then despair. Hope again. Despair again. All strung along by an enduring uncertainty.

It was in this state that she found Byleth coming from the market in her direction with a bag of seeds. _Pale-blue Flowers; her favorite._

"Edelgard," Byleth greeted her.

"Professor," Edelgard said. She pulled her thoughts together to formulate her request. "Will you join me? There's something I must do. It will take a few days, but I promise we'll be back in time for the ceremony at the Holy Tomb."

"Where are we going?" Byleth questioned.

"It's meant to be a secret, but… I'm going to Enbarr, the Imperial Capital. There is something I must do there."

Edelgard cast her eyes downward, afraid to look her professor in the face. If the professor accepted the invitation, she decided she would follow through with the original plan of showing her professor her home, her father, her strength in deposing the wicked and corrupt. She would show the professor her will as she took power. Maybe if she were to see, she would understand when the time came for her to make a choice. For now, all she could do was ask.

"I'll go with you," the professor said easily.

It was all Edelgard could do to keep from laughing. "Thank you my teacher,"

She wondered why she had wasted so much time thinking when it wouldn't have changed the result anyway. Her indecisiveness had been completely unlike her.

"Were you waiting here for me?" Byleth asked casually.

"I was just… thinking," Edelgard answered carefully. "But yes. I was. I just… wasn't sure you would come with me."

"Why wouldn't I?"

She couldn't answer that question. There were too many reasons to name. "I see I was worried for nothing. Well then, my teacher, let us not waste time and depart."

Byleth nodded. "I will follow your lead," she said.

_Will you?_ Edelgard thought wistfully.

The caravan that waited at the gate had a simple and unassuming exterior. Her detail of imperial guards was also dressed in unadorned cloth. At a passing inspection they looked to be just a gaggle of merchants.

"Thank you for waiting," Edelgard said as she climbed into a cart before turning to reach a hand down to give the professor aid, but Byleth was already helping herself up. She leapt into the cart in one smooth motion at the same time that Edelgard extended her hand. It made the Imperial Princess's own ascent appear clumsy and foolish. She let her hand fall, fist clenched tightly, and turned away from the monastery. "Ready!" she commanded, and the retinue began to move.


	5. (2) Conversation

The moon peeked out occasionally from the gaps in the forest canopy above. They were traveling through the night - dangerous in other circumstances, but they were traveling with one of her more elite detachments led by an upstanding knight named Randolph. The man had proven his worth countless times in the past as a competent warrior and as a trustworthy ally. They were in capable hands.

It was unlikely that even the professor could survive if faced against the whole might of Randolph and his units. Probably.

Sitting across from her was the silhouette of a familiar figure. The darkness of the night and the forest made it difficult to make out a face, but the intermittent moonlight showed the silent professor to be awake and alert.

"My teacher, will you not sleep?"

There was a silence followed by a flash of moonlight from above, revealing briefly the professor's other-wordly eyes. Green and piercing, the woman's gaze was now leveled directly at her student. _Demon_. The sudden image was so astonishing, Edelgard felt her heart make an extra leap. Her head tingled briefly with the sudden surge of blood. _It's only her. There's nothing to be afraid of_, she thought as she quickly calmed her racing heart.

"You seem to be awake as well," Byleth finally replied.

"I have a lot to think about," Edelgard said. "You seem… different. Ever since what happened in the forest with that mage, Solon, I feel like - well I feel like I don't really know you anymore. Frankly, it's a little frightening."

Another interval of silence; she'd forgotten how the professor sometimes responded a beat slower than normal. It was something many students had found offputting until they'd gotten used to it. In the same way students got used to being assigned missions to put down the Church's enemies. She'll never forget her first time watching fifteen year old Petra put her blade into the eye of one of Kosta's young bandits. The boy hadn't been any older than either of them.

"I am still me," Byleth said thoughtfully. "Only my appearance has changed."

"That's relieving to hear," Edelgard admitted, her relief tinged with a reluctant skepticism. "There's a peace in the air tonight. The gentle sound of leaves rustling in the breeze, the quiet of a world that does not know or care for human struggles. It's a lovely reprieve that I often fear will be my last. Yet here we are, nearly a year since we've met, back in the same forest, breathing the same air. I sometimes feel as if we've known each other for a long time." She allowed herself to smile. "I'm glad I could share this moment with you, my teacher."

"I am glad as well," Byleth answered bluntly.

The return to silence was abrupt. While the professor could be very engaging in conversation when she chose to be, she often preferred to be otherwise. Silence was something she was entirely comfortable with, a trait that Edelgard found both refreshing and welcoming. It invited her to speak to her heart's content. There was so much she wanted to say, so much that she had to withhold. If only the professor were fully and truly on her side. Then she wouldn't have to deceive her. She wouldn't have to deal with this maddening ache and guilt.

"What is on your mind?" Byleth asked suddenly.

Edelgard thought for a moment on what to say. Anything other than the truth. "I've been thinking about prayer," she began. "I often see you holding extra choir sessions with the other students."

"Yes," Byleth confirmed.

"I hadn't taken you for the pious type," Edelgard commented. "Given that you were raised without knowing anything about the Church, I find it surprising how quickly you were converted."

"Is there something wrong with taking on the Church's beliefs?" Byleth questioned.

"It's hard to say," Edelgard said diplomatically, keeping her true opinions to herself. "I believe one of the Knights of Seiros... Shamir? She openly does not practice the faith. I think the Church is right to allow people of differing beliefs to coexist."

"Unless these other beliefs would harm the Church itself," Byleth added.

Edelgard felt her heart warm, and suppressed the sudden desire to embrace the professor who was still figuratively and literally in the dark. If she hoped too strongly, then it would hurt all the more when the professor rejected her cause - rejected _her_.

"Are you sure you should be saying that?" Edelgard asked.

"It's the truth." Byleth said simply.

"I wholeheartedly agree. Only a fool leaves an enemy alive to hurt them another day." Edelgard felt a familiar guilt settle in her chest as she was reminded sharply of her considerations from before they'd left the Church. Logic dictated minimization of risk, and it was hard to deny the risk that Professor Eisner posed was one that actually made Hubert's proposition worth considering.

"That's right," Byleth affirmed.

Edelgard's earlier joy was no more. The value of eliminating potential enemies was a truth in its own right; to say that the Church eliminated its enemies wasn't really especially heretical. She was trying too hard to hear what she wanted to hear.

"Professor, do you believe in the Goddess?" Edelgard asked.

"Yes." There was no hesitation in the answer.

Her heart fell. She was suddenly reminded of the class they'd held after the professor had first woken up following Solon's defeat. The answer wasn't too strange, in hindsight. Her professor _did_ receive the goddess's powers after all. Her transformation and everything that happened in the forest were nothing short of miraculous. Edelgard realized that she'd asked the wrong question.

"Professor, do you believe the Church's teachings?" _When the time comes, will you side with them or will you side with me?_

The silence again. A brief flash of light showed Professor Eisner to be staring blankly at her. She was thinking. Always thinking. Edelgard wished, not for the first time, that she could read Professor Eisner's mind; she felt herself growing annoyingly uncomfortable. "I apologize. I shouldn't have asked such a question."

No response. Sometimes, Edelgard hated the way her professor could so easily stoke her emotions merely by not talking. It was a trait she found to be incredibly nerve-wracking.

"It's better formulated than the question before it," Byleth _finally_ replied.

"Ever the teacher I see," Edelgard noted, unable to keep the bite out of her voice.

"It's my job," she replied, regurgitating an answer she'd repeated many times before. "I don't find it unenjoyable," the professor added slowly, almost as if she understood how lackluster her answer sounded otherwise.

"I'm glad," Edelgard said. "I hope you will always continue to be my teacher, even after the Academy."

"I will be here to guide you. Always."

Always was quite a promise. _Would you still say the same if you knew_? Despite her misgivings, Edelgard couldn't help but feel a comfort from hearing the statement.

And there it was.

The silence.

Again.

Her question was left without an answer and she wasn't sure if she should press for one. Belief in the Church was a sensitive subject, one that no noble in their right mind would dare discuss too openly. She barely suppressed an exasperated sigh as she lay her head down into a more comfortable position. "I'm going to sleep. I would advise you to do the same."

No response. Edelgard closed her eyes. It was as Hubert had said. Professor Eisner was extremely difficult to read. Hubert was probably also right in implying that she was being arrogant in thinking herself to be the only student capable of understanding the cryptic professor.

"Good night, my student," Byleth said suddenly, her voice so low that Edelgard almost didn't hear it.

The princess's heart jumped. In surprise. In fear. One of the two. Or neither. It dawned on her that, whether or not it was intentional, the professor spoke like she fought. Weaving in and out of the enemy's perception and hitting them where they least expect it, the former mercenary was fond of ambush tactics - especially those that incorporated a forest cover.

This time, Edelgard allowed herself to be the one to create the extended silence.

"Good night, my teacher," she said after counting to fifteen. A brief interval passed, and she pulled her cloak closer to her body for warmth. Then, something strange happened. She could almost swear she heard a quiet breath of laughter come from her teacher's direction. She listened again, straining her ears, but all she heard was the creak of the cart's wheels and the wind whispering among the leaves. She'd probably mistaken the noise. It was more likely just the wind than what she'd thought it to be.

Byleth Eisner never laughed.

The Imperial Princess lay awake for a long time listening to the footfall of her soldiers, the groan of the rolling cart, the sound of rustling leaves - its appeal dulled by repetition, and the tumult of stormy thoughts.


	6. (2) Coronation

Of the eleven Adrestian princes and princesses, she had been the only one who'd endured the torture, the beckon of insanity that came with it, and survived. Edelgard von Hresvelg had always stood above the rest; the weight she carried was one that would crush anyone else. They could never understand her. They could never match her, much less exceed her. She'd had to guide herself, cut her own path.

Her father had watched them destroy his children. There had been nothing he could do, even though he was her father. Even though he was supposed to protect her. She'd pleaded for him to save her to no avail. The ruler of Adrestia wore a false crown, and in her darkest moments, Edelgard discovered the world's most fundamental truth.

The only person Edelgard von Hresvelg could rely on was Edelgard von Hresvelg. No one would ever suffer for her like she had for herself. No one would ever know her like she knew herself. No one would ever deserve her complete trust. Not her own father. Not even Hubert.

There would always be people who struggled to best her. Ferdinand, eager to compete but foolish. Dimitri, strong and hardworking but naive. Claude, clever, charming and weak; his cheap tricks could only carry him so far. As long as she strives, her peers could not hope to match her. Every victory served only to further prove her belief in her own abilities, her own strength of will and her leadership.

The latter strain of thought did not last beyond their first two after-battle critique sessions during which Professor Eisner annihilated what Edelgard now knew to be arrogance. The professor had always had a hand in the numerous victories they'd achieved. The Black Eagle's stratagems, its unity, its leadership, its strength… every single facet contained inextricable traces of the professor's influence.

The thought used to give her a feeling of almost unbearable insufficiency. There were nights she would reflect before bed and reassess how she could optimize her time so that she could outperform her assigned professor. She would try to wake up earlier, train harder, study better, practice more. Every aspect she could control, she did. As a reward, she received a taste of what it was like to be Ferdinand von Aegir competing against Edelgard von Hresvelg.

Byleth Eisner was invincible.

She remembered admitting this thought to Hubert, remembered him later admitting to orchestrating several assassination attempts in order to 'test' Edelgard's opinion.

There was absolutely no way Professor Eisner could have predicted that a sniper, one of the best among Hubert's contacts, would be hired to shoot an arrow through the window of her room from a hundred meters away while she was sleeping. According to the sniper, Professor Eisner had rolled out of the arrow's trajectory at the last second. The sniper had tried again from different angles and at different times of day to no avail. His fifth attempt had ended with him being caught by his target. He was never seen again. On another occasion, four assassins had been hidden underneath the floorboard to the professor's room which, upon report, had been raided by the Knights of Seiros. None of the assassins had survived. Every trap laid was discovered and dismantled.

The professor's uncanny ability to avoid danger was a riddle that she could not solve without arriving at some twisted, improbable explanation. Even now, the answer eluded her. Six attempts were planned and executed. Every single one foiled.

Then she had an idea, an intuition that was both wonderful and sick, which suggested that if her teacher had chosen to lead any other house, then that house would have been superior to her own. The feeling extended far beyond the three houses at Garreg Mach. If her teacher could choose to walk the same path that Edelgard herself was destined to walk, the Empire's victory would be assured.

Only one person existed who stood so decidedly above her, only one person in this entire world deserved to guide her. Professor Eisner was _her_ teacher and the only one worthy of that title. _Walk with me, and I will show you what we can achieve together._

Her thoughts slowed, and the inevitable darkness of sleep eventually crept over her, taking her into a place where the emotionless masks of her tormentors loomed and where her father's eyes seethed uselessly as his palms bled under his tightly clenched fists. The knives came closer, closer, closer, and she couldn't help but watch with fascinated horror. She remembered seeing the long cut running from the center of her sister Annika's chest down to a spot below her navel, and she screamed. The knife sunk deep into the space between her ribs. Deeper and deeper still, and her skin became a bottomless chasm.

Father's eyes seethe, his hands bleed, the masks loom, her skin splits wide open, and her scream goes unheard.

…

…

* * *

_A dream_.

_A woman dressed in gentle green, standing on a cliff. Mother of the land gazing down with hope at all the gathered people._

_A smile of acceptance._

_She leans forward. She falls, a fire burning brighter than the brightest star._

_A long descent, the world around her blooming with color. _

_The light connects with the earth. Beautiful. Blinding. It disperses, blowing apart like dust._

_The hearts of the people burn, flecks of scattered light igniting every soul it touches._

_A man falls to his knees. Loss. Disbelief. Horror._

_He is blinded by his grief._

_Her name trails from his lips._

"_Emm."_

…

_Professor_

…

"Professor."

Byleth's eyes feel unusually heavy.

Her student was shaking her.

"We've arrived, my teacher."

Byleth blinks. Like lifting a whole horse. Thrice. But harder.

"Are you… crying?"

Byleth shakes her head and throws an arm across her eyes. She _was_ crying. She wipes at her cheeks, drying them, and her sleep clears. Why was she crying?

"Was it a dream?"

Byleth sniffs and shakes her head. She doesn't know. Her mouth is dry, and her tongue feels heavy. "Don't mind me," she mumbles. A strong impulse whispers: _Set the example._

And she does. Imagining a string pulling her up from the tip of her head, Byleth presses against the vertigo and stands.

Her student was giving her a look she couldn't understand.

"She doesn't look like much," a woman nearby declares judiciously. Byleth looks her over. A massive axe. Heavy armor. Confident posture. Wary eyes. Brown hair tied behind her. Young.

"Appearances can be deceiving, Ladislava," Edelgard says in Byleth's defense. "Are we ready?"

"Yes," the woman, Ladislava, bows. "His Majesty has received advanced notice, and the garrison is ready to storm the castle."

"I pray Father isn't foolish enough to resist," Edelgard picks up her axe and leaps off the cart. "But I am loathe to place my hopes in prayer."

Byleth draws her sword and follows. They enter a castle courtyard, Adrestian banners lay draped across various corners. Their march is solemn, almost silent. The first set of guards they encounter stand to attention.

Soldiers line the halls inside the castle.

"Your Majesty," they mutter, and Byleth immediately understands what is happening.

Edelgard nods, her face grim. The small convoy becomes a sizable company as its numbers increase, an impressive display of coordination.

They pass several important-looking men standing under a huge archway. Nobles. The men bow. "Your Majesty," they say in unison.

"Not yet," Edelgard replies. "Come."

They follow.

Hubert joins them. The dark mage's eyes linger on Byleth long enough for her to notice. Edelgard's pace doesn't change as she acknowledges her retainer. "Well done," she said.

"All according to your plans," Hubert replies. They exchange no more words.

One passage connects to the next. They move quickly, striding through long walkways and wide stairs going up and up. Like water through a paper dam, the imperial force - the coup - breaks into the Adrestian throne room. The ceiling is high. No threat from above.

A pale, decrepit man waits patiently on his throne. One knight stands to his right. Spear. Heavy armor. The King of Adrestia is briefly surprised as he surveys the scene. He is faced with a sizable force. His entire demeanor is one of resignation. He understands his fate.

Edelgard hesitates for only a second.

"Father," she begins softly. "Forgive me for asking this of you…"

There is no skirmish. The Emperor, Edelgard's father, is weak and sick. Any fight he had in him seems to have left him long ago. Something in the air shifts as the former Emperor places his crown onto his daughter's head. The weight which had crushed the man who bore it previously now lay on the shoulders of his successor. Standing to her feet, Edelgard bears it well.

"My daughter," The former Emperor's cough shatters his throat. "I regret that I could not do more for you. When you were stolen away to the Kingdom, when the prime minister did those horrible things, I could only watch in horror."

"I- I understand, Father. In those dark times, your eyes and your fists were my salvation. Within your eyes, I saw true care. And upon your fists clenched tight with indignity, I saw the blood that dripped and fell. Even as I bled, I felt that you, too, must also be bleeding."

"You're Majesty!" A fat man rushes into the throne room from a side door. "You must not leave your sleeping chambers in your condition. Ah. Edelgard."

The company below watches on in silence.

"I did not expect to find your Highness here," he says, switching his form of address.

"Prime Minister, you have misspoken. I am no longer 'Your Highness' but rather…'Your Majesty'"

It was a line which could have been delivered with much more vengeance, but Edelgard had never been the resentful type.

The Prime Minister, now identified, looks from the new Emperor to the company below. His face dawns the look of one who just had the earth pulled from under his feet but cannot fathom how it could have happened.

"I-Impossible!" He cries.

He emits several more words of protest before he finally understands that all was lost for him. He is officially stripped of his title and escorted away in front of all who had come to witness the succession.

The Emperor then turns to her gathered subjects with a mien of great conviction. "In accordance with the ancient covenant, and in keeping with the Hresvelg legacy... I swear that upon this throne, I shall use my reign to lead Fódlan to a new dawn and achieve peace for all."

A great cheer echoes throughout the castle as the Adrestians celebrate the ascent of their new leader.

* * *

Watching her student stand before the throne and address her people, Byleth cannot help being overtaken by a familiar feeling of pride.

Their eyes meet, and Edelgard smiles. She finds herself smiling back. There is no greater joy she could fathom than to watch her students grow - watch them succeed time and again.

The story of Edelgard von Hresvelg was a story of tragedy and triumph. It was a story of the strength of the human spirit, of its ability to continue to face and overcome trials of great suffering with unimaginable courage.

What feats could this new Emperor achieve?

What kind of leader - what kind of person could she be?

What role could Byleth Eisner play to help Edelgard von Hresvelg attain all that lies within the reach of her immense potential?

The answer comes easily, a resolution she'd already made to herself countless times before.

They will _always_ be her students, and as long as she is their professor, their teacher, she will do everything in her power to guide them.


	7. (2) Reminiscence

She was overwhelmed when she first returned and found only corpses. Bodies strewn all across her beloved home.

Humans.

A thick carpet of humans killed in all ways imaginable, blood soaking the pure earth on which she'd lived and loved. Their rot filled the once peaceful air with the heavy stench of death.

Her sacred home, soiled. The corpses of her brothers, her sisters, her sons and daughters, rose above the corpses of the puny humans. They did not decay like humans did, but the fate they had suffered was worse than that of death.

Spines cut open and removed. Heads lopped away. Horns, wings, claws. Murdered and defiled.

She rushed underground, to mother's sleeping place, praying for her to be safe. Dreading the worst.

Corpses everywhere. So many humans. _Why?_

And then she saw it. Two corpses lay in front of the throne, corpses she recognized.

Her only remaining daughters, in human form.

Both of them were in pieces, but otherwise perfectly preserved.

Something about their shattered preservation seemed outrageously funny to her and she laughed. It was insanity. What she was seeing was insanity.

But where was mother?

She kicked aside several decaying corpses with the skin barely hanging from their skeletal frames.

Humans everywhere.

She laughed again at the thought, her first impulse telling her to find the nearest human establishment and burn them all to dust.

Her second impulse was to grieve.

She stood there for many days, surrounded by the corpses of her family, grieving, and it was there that Wilhem Paul Hresvelg had found her. He had seen her fly into Zanado and had followed.

His genuine sorrow and regret, his courage in facing her that day, had curbed her murderous rage. If Wilhelm hadn't found her, it was likely she would have slaughtered as many humans as she could find. In retaliation, the humans would have eventually killed her; the goddess and her children would have been written into history as some kind of ancient evil that'd had to be quelled.

But that was not what ended up in the history books because in the end she had won, and history will always be written by the winner.

* * *

Unlike humans, she had time on her side. Much more than any of them would ever have. Even the most despicable human died in eighty or so years.

She'd watched the Church's roots sink ever deeper over the centuries. It was interesting to observe how the passage of time gave the past an almost mythical tint.

Holding her mother's heart with Nemesis laying dead underneath her, she'd enjoyed a brief moment of repose before the question came to her.

_What next?_

Next, rebuild the continent. Establish peace. Settle the people. Create a system in which what had happened to her would never happen again.

It took years, decades even, before things were settled in the way she'd wanted it to. Her priorities were simple.

First, she needed to make sure the people were happy so that they didn't rebel. They must be afforded lives in which they didn't suffer unbearably. Agriculture and work were important. It was imperative to make sure everyone had enough to eat and had meaningful channels of work to direct their energy.

Second, she needed to maintain control of Fodlan's technological development. The Agarthans had proven how dangerous technology could be, and there was no need to risk their second coming.

Third, she needed a way of controlling people's thoughts. Evil is always born first in the mind before it manifested in the world. If she could create a system of thought that is attractive, a system that can teach people to be good, then the tragedy of the Red Canyon would never happen again. With this notion in mind, she'd established the Church of Seiros.

"Will you ever tell them the truth?" Wilhelm had asked once. As Emperor of the newly united continent, he had been helping her root the Church's teachings into Fodlan's culture.

"No," she'd answered adamantly. "You know why I cannot."

And then again on his deathbed at the age of ninety.

"Even now you grieve," he'd said. "Promise me, Seiros, by the love that we shared, that when all the people of Fodlan are good and safe, when everything is finally at peace, you will eventually learn to trust them with the truth."

"In time, Wilhelm," she'd answered and then changed the subject. "You have helped me relinquish my hate of humanity, and I am glad that you did so. You will always have a place in my heart. For you, I promise to do my utmost to maintain peace and order on this continent." Though it was not the promise he had asked for, it was the promise he would have, and Wilhelm had died looking satisfied anyway. Her secrets would die with him.

Through the Church of Seiros, Fodlan enjoyed about a hundred years of relative peace after Wilhelm's death. A hundred years with which to contemplate the same question.

_What next?_

There was only so much that could be accomplished before things were finally settled; time was on her side and with patience, almost everything she set out to achieve was eventually accomplished.

_What next?_

A whisper of thought was all it took. _Bring back Mother_.

She remembered Mother holding her in a warm embrace and singing to her a lullaby to put her to sleep.

The prospect set her spirit into a frenzy. It was followed by an even more compelling whisper. _Turn back time._

The idea was both crazy and not so crazy because she didn't really know the full extent of Mother's powers to begin with. Still, the thought added an extra layer of compulsion, and she had no excuse not to try because she had more time than she knew what to do with anyway.

* * *

The humans were at war again.

A descendant of Blaidydd had somehow rallied the northern lords behind the Empire's back.

For the first time in over seven hundred years, Fodlan teetered on the brink of destruction.

Her first reaction, when she realized what was happening, was anger. The humans had always been prone to war, despite her best efforts. Now they threatened everything she'd worked for, the order she had worked so tirelessly to achieve. All for some petty bid to give themselves more power.

The northern alliance called itself the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, and it managed to stave off the forces of both the Empire and the Knights of Seiros for four years. Four years of pointless bloodshed.

At the negotiation table, the leader of house Blaidydd, Loog, spun a convincing tale.

A village, starved to death. Its lands so cold no crops would grow. Requests for Enbarr's assistance were denied. Persuaded by the words of stingy western lords, the Emperor had foolishly decided that the lords to the North were making demands simply to fill their own coffers. The fact that the North had survived their predicaments that year without help had further justified the Emperor's belief that they hadn't needed it, that they wouldn't need it in the future.

"What has the Empire done for us while our people starved? _Nothing_. It is by our own great sacrifices that we've been able to triumph! By our own hands, we've conquered the trials of the North!" Loog shouted across the table. "By our own sweat and blood, we have survived! What has the Empire done but demand tribute, and steal from our labor? We owe _nothing_ to Adrestia. If the Empire wants no part in helping us in our times of need, then we want no part in the Empire. The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, the lords of the North, ask only for our due: our independence."

Emperor Ionius, second of his name, had the grace to look apologetic. "I was wrongly swayed by the words of my council."

It was much too little and much too late. Even if the Empire apologized and promised reform, the damage had been done. Faerghus had fought and sacrificed too much to accept anything but what they were asking for. The negotiations turned stale, and it seemed they were at an impasse which promised an extension of the conflict.

"Emperor Ionius," she'd said, finally. "I wish for this war to be at its end."

"Lady Ahm...as you wish." The man's words were heavy and full of regret as he complied. "You must understand that I do not do this easily. To admit defeat would mean that I will have failed the legacy of my ancestors."

"This war has taken a toll on everyone involved," she'd pressed. "There is no end that would be good for any of us if we continue fighting. The people must be allowed to get on with their lives."

It was all that was needed. With a great sigh, the Emperor spoke reluctantly, "the Empire hereby recognizes the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. From this day forth, you are on your own."

"As we have always been," Loog said.

"Is that it?" a handsome man with pale skin and white hair chimed in. Pan, the clever tactician that had been responsible for many of Faerghus's victories on the battlefield. "We can't let it end here, Loog!"

She glared at the man, knowing who he was by his distinct appearance. It was a knowledge she could not share. "You would dare-?!"

"Let's not forget!" the man interrupted loudly, sporting a glare of his own. "The Church is just as much at fault as the Empire! Independence is no longer sufficient, not after all they have done. Not after all the battles we have fought and the friends we have sacrificed. The Empire and the Church have always been corrupt! This war is _not _over until both are destroyed! Do not surrender now. Not at this stage. The people stand behind you, begging you to fight this war to its end. We will give you our lives to help you win. Ask of me anything, anything but surrender, and I will help you accomplish it. Only you can lead Fodlan as its true leader!"

"Pan. My friend. I understand your perspective," Loog answered slowly. "But I am as much responsible for the living as I am for the dead. There is no need for me to sacrifice any more of my precious people to continue this fight. We've achieved what we've aimed for, and peace is at hand. I agree with the Archbishop. It is time for both our peoples to return to living their lives."

"And as a token of our trust," the Emperor added, now fully leaning into his position. "We will deliver supplies to the North to aid its recovery from the tragedies of this war. I am truly sorry that we had not done so years before, but alas, we cannot change the past. A new dawn is now upon us, and we must strive to give the people of Fodlan a brighter future."

Despite the Agarthan tactician's best efforts, settlements were made and peace was achieved.

Her Knights that she'd sent to tail him reported news of his disappearance a year later. Pan was never seen again.

* * *

Only fifty years after the settlement with Faerghus, the lords of the East decided to declare their independence too. The Leicester Alliance, they called themselves.

With the War of the Eagle and Lion in mind, she convinced the Empire to tactfully accede to the new Alliance's bid for independence. Never again would she put the continent to war. Not if she could help it.

* * *

"What are you thinking about, mother?" her daughter, sixth to bear Mother's heart, whispered.

"I am thinking about you, Leraje," She smoothed a hand over the child's long, green hair. "If you don't sleep soon, you'll be too tired to help Merrell in the garden tomorrow."

"No I won't!" The child replied obstinately.

"My sweet child," she hugged her daughter into her arms and planted a kiss on her forehead. "If I sing you a lullaby, will you go to sleep?"

"Maybe." The girl snuggled closer, her tiny arms reciprocating the hug. "But if I fall asleep, it's not because you told me to."

"Your will is your own, my lovely, little Leraje," she replied.

Stroking her daughter's hair gently, she let her mind wander aimlessly. The words eventually come to her, and she drifted into a slow melody.

_"Once there were trees full of birds,  
__Meadowlands vibrant with flowers;  
Carefree the songs our children once sang  
Gilding our minutes and hours.  
Clouds came and covered the sun,  
The breath of a baleful unease  
Turning to ashes flowers in their fields,  
Silenced the birds in their trees." _(1)

Her singing trailed off when she felt her daughter's breathing steady and become deep. Stubborn as she was, Leraje had fallen asleep after only two verses

She continued to stroke the girl's hair as she listened to her daughter's slow breathing. The more she loved them, the more painful it would be when they died, but it was better to give them love while they could have it than to let them die without.

This one would probably have eighty years. Ninety at most. Then she would try again. There was no hurry. Time was on her side after all.

* * *

**Author's Note**

* * *

(1) Ashes of Dreams, from Nier Gestalt & RepliCant; look it up and have a listen if you're curious. I rather like it.


	8. (2) Unfulfilled

Edelgard tells a story on the carriage back to Garreg Mach.

Emperor Ionius the Ninth had always been weak. He had been plagued with crippling sickness for as long as she could remember. Unable to handle the Empire's many affairs in his state, he'd allowed the Prime Minister to perform many of his functions for him. This dynamic would exist for years. Vicious rumors, likely instigated by the Prime Minister himself, would begin to spread of the Emperor's impotence; subservience to the Emperor became resentful decorum.

The Insurrection of the Seven came almost naturally. The leaders of Houses Hrym and Ordelia had decided to rebel in an attempt to join the Leicester Alliance. The Empire's ministers handled the rebellion while the Emperor laid sick in his bed. It was the final straw. Declaring the Emperor weak and useless, the Prime Minister united the Empire's Ministry in a coup, stripping the Emperor of most of his power.

The Hresvelg line is at its end, the whispers went. The Empire's leaders quickly warmed to the prospect of priming potential heirs to the throne from their own houses. A generation - a market - of children were born. Crests became the standard by which the children were elevated.

It was in this environment that Lord Arundel, the Emperor's brother in law, proposed a plan. Resurrect the ancient Crest of Flames. Create a peerless successor that the Empire's nobles would have no choice but to follow. The Crest of Flames would save the Hresvelg legacy. It was the Emperor's only hope.

By the time Ionius realized what the procedure for Crest implantation entailed, two of his heirs had already died, and he no longer had the power to do anything. The Prime Minister had deemed the plan necessary, citing his sorrow at seeing the ancient Hresvelg line fall to ruin.

Edelgard stops at this point in the story to ask Byleth what she thought of it.

"It's… interesting." It was the truth. No more, no less.

Hubert's sigh is almost unnoticeable. Almost.

Edelgard voices her suspicion that the Prime Minister, while looking to put his own son on the throne, had probably agreed to Lord Arundel's proposition on the belief that the plan was meant to fail, that no heir of Hresvelg was meant to survive the impossible Crest implantation procedures.

"It's one of the few thoughts that had kept me from giving in, the thought that I could prove him _wrong_."

"Did you hate him?" Byleth asks.

"I did," Edelgard answers quietly. "You have no idea how long I've imagined the moment that I would strip away his powers and titles. I wanted to make him suffer like I did. Yet when that time did finally come, I no longer felt resentment. I realized that he was only just a man. A man with many faults, just like any other man. Born in a different circumstance, he would have become someone else. Good and evil will always exist in the hearts of men. Who am I to judge mankind when I am no better?"

Byleth nods. "One can only forgive."

"Yes," Edelgard continues. "Whether you know it or not, my teacher, you've taught me to forgive myself for my own faults. I- I used to resent you for being better than me."

"That's no good," Byleth comments.

"Indeed," Edelgard agrees. "Now, every day, I strive to become better, to fight my weaknesses without resentment to distract me and cloud my judgment."

"Fascinating," Hubert interjects, a hand held pensively under his chin. "You haven't spoken of such thoughts to me, Lady Edelgard. I suppose, in this allegory, Prime Minister Aegir represents the weaknesses of mankind."

"I'm happy you understand, Hubert," Edelgard says. "I will continue to fight the weaknesses of man until the day I die. That is my duty." The young Emperor looks directly at the woman sitting across from her. "Professor. Teacher. This path that I walk… if you could walk it with me, I- I could wish for nothing else."

"As long as you are willing to call me teacher, I will do what I can to guide you. I promise."

"I thank you, my teacher." Edelgard smiles exuberantly. "Even if I do surpass you, and I plan to, I will always call you my teacher." The smile falters. "And I pray you will hold true to your promise."

"Why would I not?" Byleth asks.

Edelgard looks away. "Close as I think we are, I still find it rather difficult to place my trust in others. It's… it's not your fault."

"Edelgard," Byleth says and reaches to take the girl's hand. Sometimes she forgets that the person sitting in front of her is only seventeen years old. "You can trust me."

"I-I'm sorry professor. I-" Edelgard squeezes Byleth's hand painfully tight. Some sort of an internal conflict. "I'm sorry. I can't."

"You don't need to apologize," Byleth offers. "If this is a weakness, then we will fight it together."

Edelgard abruptly retracts her hand, as if from the touch of hot iron. She straightens, comporting herself properly. She stares at the hand briefly before setting it down in her lap. "If you will excuse me, I am tired," she says. "I wish to rest."

No more words are exchanged between them.

Byleth watches her student for a moment. Hubert glares at her without reservation, but he also opts to say nothing. Byleth isn't sure what she did wrong. Edelgard is refusing to look in her direction.

Some problems can only be worked out alone. Maybe this is one of those problems.

Byleth leans back and closes her eyes.

Silence suits her just fine.

In the same way their travel began, they stop after a night's sleep to be transferred onto horses that had been prepared for them. The rest of the journey back, save for a few words of custom, was just as wordless. They reach Garreg Mach just before nightfall. The market is still open with people bustling from stall to stall.

Byleth rolls off the back of her horse at the market entrance.

"I must report to the Archbishop," she tells her students. "I want the class on standby tomorrow afternoon by the second bell. Got it?"

She looks from one student to the other. Edelgard is giving her a strange look, and Hubert's expression seems openly hostile.  
"Understood," Edelgard replies before their non-response starts to become strange.

"Good," Byleth lifts the reins of her steed. "Please take her to the stable for me."

Edelgard starts to walk forward, but Hubert quickly brushes past her to take the reins.

"As you wish," Hubert says.

Quietly, the two students watch their professor weave through the late afternoon traffic. She races up the steps of the monastery four steps at a time, and disappears.

Edelgard spares a brief glance over the line of stalls, not really seeing them as her eyes pass through.

"By your leave," Hubert says. Edelgard's eyes wander back to her retainer. She sighs and begins walking.

Slowly, Adrestia's new Emperor and her Minister make their way through the crowd with three horses in tow. They eventually reach the stables where it is less busy.

Edelgard walks the professor's horse into a stall. On some strange, divine whim, the horse starts to fight her ministrations as it nears the stable door.

Calmly, she wraps her arms around the neck of the struggling horse and shoves it back against its will; the quadruped was no match for her strength, and she shut the stable doors quickly.

"That was oddly difficult," she gasps, her face flushed with effort. "I hope the other two are more compliant."

Hubert had already stabled his steed, leaving the white one that Edelgard had ridden. He says nothing.

Edelgard goes to her horse and leads it to the nearest empty stable.

"Now _you're _the one brooding," she says, a hint of taunting playfulness in her voice. "What are you thinking, Hubert? Tell me."

Hubert blinks. "It is nothing of importance," he replies. "I just hope you are ready for the worst."

"I have always been ready," she answers, her lingering smile now strained as she guides her horse. "Do not worry about my resolve."


	9. (3) Ceremony

There is a distinct feeling that comes with revealing one's secrets, especially when those secrets were so carefully kept for so long. It's in part a fear that the secrets would be used to fulfill all the imagined harms that had justified their secret status in the first place, the type of paranoia born from pre-existing seeds of doubt, of mistrust.

It is a fear she'd weighed with considerable thought the day Mother had woken.

There is no doubt that Mother's consciousness exists somewhere in that shell, in Byleth Eisner. Not even Seteth knows the origin of Mother's song. The difficulty is in determining how much of the Professor is Mother and how much is Byleth Eisner.

The Professor's discomfort with her newfound identity and the distance she maintains from her own Children is an indication that the part of her that is Byleth Eisner has great influence over the part that is Sothis.

The issue raises a natural question. What makes an identity? Was it a person's memories? Can't be. Not entirely, at least. A body bereft of memories, an amnesiac, is still the person from before their memories were taken from them. At the same time, they no longer strictly think in the same way that they had prior to losing their memories. A person is a combination of their inherent nature and their lived experiences after all. In some sense, the loss of lived experience makes them someone else entirely. They are simultaneously the person they were and not.

If an amnesiac regains their memories, they become a mixed continuation of who they were before the amnesia and who they had been after. Maybe instead of thinking of Byleth Eisner as both Mother and not Mother - implying a split identity inside one body, it is perhaps more accurate to think of her as an amnesiac who is in the process of regaining her continuum - of remembering.

It is well known that familiar events, places and people can have positive effects in helping the amnesiac remember. Having Mother see her old throne again may well trigger something, and she is feeling strangely hopeful. It is a hope she had not permitted herself to feel lest the repeated sting of disappointment be too much to bear. But now the hope is so strong it refuses to be quelled. She is so close. So close.

"Lady Rhea," a voice announces its presence.

Without turning, she continues to look out over the terrace. The forest spread before her, as it has done for nearly a millennium. Sometimes it is good to remind herself that she could have been given less.

"I've returned from Enbarr," the voice continues from right beside her.

"Thank you for notifying me of your departure," Rhea says.

"I like to keep my employers informed," Byleth replies.

The quiet returns. Rhea watches the distant market crowd begin to thin. The people come and go like waves. A gradient of bright colors tint the sky above them in lieu of the setting sun.

"The view is lovely, is it not?" Rhea says.

A lull of silence passes again before an answer is given, a sign of quiet observation.

"It is beautiful," Byleth responds.

"I have longed to show it to you. All of it. I've so much to tell you, Mother. The thousand years since you… since you left me. I've gathered quite a few stories. I'm sure you would enjoy hearing me tell them." She pauses abruptly. "Do you still find it uncomfortable?"

"Yes," Byleth says truthfully.

"I see," Rhea replies, letting her own disappointment show. "The ceremony at the Holy Tomb… I really do hope it will help you remember."

"Why make it a ceremony? Why not just take me there?"

"The Holy Tomb," Rhea answers patiently. "As its name implies, is sacred. It is not to be opened for entry without a proper ceremony. Even I, as the Archbishop, must adhere to the customs of the Church. Besides, if there is any event in Fodlan's history that should be gilded with ceremony, I would think the return of the Goddess herself would qualify as one such event."

"What will you do when I remember?" Byleth asks.

The question gives her pause, and the thought elicits a terrifying influx of hope and joy. "I would be happier than I have been in a long time. I was thinking-" she closes her eyes and decides to save that request until much later. "I was thinking of stepping down from my role of Archbishop and giving it to you."

"Me?" Byleth questions, surprised.

"Yes. You are the Beginning. It was you who guided us from the darkness of chaos into the light, and you shall guide us once more. The Church of Seiros will become the Church of Sothis. The peaceful days in Zanado that we had will be shared with all of Fodlan, perhaps even to Almyra and beyond. Life will become free and beautiful. The peace that once existed only in mortal imagination will reign supreme, and mankind shall sing your praises until the end of time."

Her sudden passion is making her slightly breathless. That impossible future has never been so close. The hope she'd suppressed for so long has never been so strong.

"You're here now, Mother. We are so close. After the ceremony, after you remember, I would love to lay in your arms and listen to you sing to me again."

She makes her first glance at the Professor. Byleth's hair and eyes are so stark in the fading light that it is the first thing she sees. If Mother had aged just a little more, it would have been very possible that she would have grown to look exactly like Byleth Eisner did now.

"That's a lot of weight you're putting on my shoulders."

"I understand," Rhea says peaceably. "I've tried to carry it in your stead, and even I could not avoid the many failures that I've had to face. It is a weight only the Goddess herself could bear."

Byleth is silent. The sky is beginning to lose its color as the first stars make themselves known.

"What will you do if I don't remember?"

"Then I shall do everything I can to support you. We'll have more time than you might know, Professor. If you are willing, I wish to help prepare you to fill these shoes I have worn for far too long. In your service, I will give you everything that I am. Are you willing, as you are now, to take on this burden?"

Byleth thinks for a moment, her expression difficult to read. "Everyone would become my student," she muses.

Rhea laughs pleasantly. "That is the aim."

Byleth shifts in place and straightens her posture. She is preparing to leave.

"Before you leave, Mother-" Rhea sees the woman display visible signs of discomfort. A quick, reactive blink. A slight compression of her lips. Byleth looks directly at her with an expectant look, but doesn't say anything.

"It is nothing. Just a passing whim," Rhea looks back out into the dimming sky. "I shall notify my priests and prepare the Holy Tomb for the ceremony. It shall begin tomorrow on the first afternoon bell. All the students are welcome to participate. Please be sure to notify them."

"I will be there with my Black Eagles." Byleth takes several steps back. "I should get going."

After a brief exchange, Mother leaves.

She watches Mother's figure retreat inside before resuming her watch under the descending night.

* * *

Is there a discrepancy in her initially adopting Sothis's condescension and then discarding it? Sure. But that discrepancy was covered when she made her identity as Byleth Eisner known. It isn't as if the Archbishop was questioning the truth of her claim anyway.

More importantly, lying comes with a loathsome feeling of guilt and wrongdoing, one that she hates dealing with. It is one of the reasons she usually chooses not to speak. The sooner she returns to truth, the better.

There is also the other possibility that she cannot ignore, the possibility that she could actually gain Sothis's memories at the ceremony.

That possibility frightens her a little. What would it mean to who she is right now? Would she disappear? She doesn't want to disappear. She likes being Byleth Eisner. She likes who she is, who she could be. She doesn't want that taken from her, didn't want her identity dwarfed by Sothis's eons of consciousness.

_It's no worse than death_. A voice whispers in her head.

True, and she should've discarded the fear of death a long time ago. Apparently some of it still lingered.

If good could come of it, then maybe it isn't so bad.

She is ready for any outcome.

* * *

A solemn procession filters into the Tomb. Lines of holy men and women carrying banners fill the halls. Knights of Seiros are interspersed among their ranks. There is a green glow in the air whose source cannot be traced.

"What an amazing place," Ferdinand comments.

"Quite," Lindhardt agrees, his eyes swiveling in all directions with complete fascination. "The Holy Tomb is where Saint Seiros is said to have received the Goddess's revelation. You could even say that this place is the Church's origin."

"And now our Professor is going to be the next Saint Seiros," Dorothea adds. "I find this all too much. It's simply unbelievable. I mean, I can't believe I even get to be here to witness it."

"A shame Edelgard couldn't come," Ferdinand says, looking behind him. He is met with a line of students and priests and knights extending back as far as his eyes can make out. Even the entrance is no longer visible.

"Lucky her," Bernadetta mutters. She sticks as close to Dorothea as she can.

"Look at what she's missing!" Linhardt says. He is besides himself.

"It's just a bunch of glowing rocks," Bernadetta gripes.

"Unbelievable." Ferdinand shakes his head, and Bernadetta doesn't dare respond.

"It's okay, Bern," Dorothea says, trying to comfort her, "No one thinks any less of you."

But Bernadetta just shakes her head and follows mutely. She isn't taking any of it well.

"You don't have to say anything," Dorothea continues. "I'm just glad you're here. We all are."

The procession suddenly stops, and Bernadetta walks into Dorothea's back with a small yelp of surprise.

"Here it is, the Throne of Knowledge," the Archbishop announces. "Professor."

Byleth steps forward.

The Archbishop begins to give a speech. "The Throne of Knowledge is where Saint Seiros herself received the Goddess's divine revelation."

"Yup, knew it." Linhardt says very very quietly.

"As I'm sure you are all aware," Rhea continues. "Professor Eisner wields the Sword of the Creator, a sword given to the King of Liberation by the Goddess. Its powers were said to be lost forever with his death. How then, can we explain the fact that she seems to be capable of using it? All who have seen it know it to be true. The Professor is blessed by the Goddess herself. Undefeated in battle and peerless in leadership, Garreg Mach will never see one of her calibre again. Not for a long time."

She examines the faces of the crowd. Their attention is captured. Many were staring at the Professor with open curiosity and interest.

"Today, the Professor will sit atop the Throne of Knowledge. Today, we shall be blessed with the Goddess's revelation. Professor, if you will?"

Byleth nods. All eyes are on her as she walks up. She moves like a phantom, her boots pad soundlessly on each stone surface as she seems to float up the steps.

She turns and sits. The crowd before her is tense with anticipation. She notices Rhea's hands clasped tightly together, shaking.

Everyone is deathly silent. Waiting. Watching. Byleth stares down at the gathered people and tries to imagine what it was like for Sothis when she used to sit here.

"Professor?" Rhea asks after a long moment.

Byleth shakes her head. "Nothing," she says.

Then, she notices something. A movement at the entrance of the Holy Tomb. There is some shouting. The clang of weapons is loud, reverberating off every stone.

All attention turns away from Byleth toward the cavernous opening behind them.

Imperial soldiers race into the Holy Tomb with Edelgard at their helm.

"Stop right there!" She shouts.

One of the Imperial Commanders steps forward. "Don't move, any of you. If you move, your lives will be forfeit. Thank you ever so much for guiding us this far. The Imperial army will now take possession of everything in the Holy Tomb."

Edelgard's hesitations, her pleas, her internal strife... Byleth feels the lines of understanding snap into place.

"What's the Imperial army doing here?" Ferdinand asks loudly. "Wait! Does he work for the Flame Emperor?"

"So the Flame Emperor's connected to the Empire. I never thought that possible," Linhardt says.

"Edelgard, did you know about this?" Bernadetta asks. Her shock is so great she forgets to be frightened.

"Yes," Edelgard answers, the flow of soldiers coming to a stop behind her. "In fact, I gave the order. I am the Flame Emperor."

The class is stunned into silence.

"I guess that's the end of play-at-school, Lady Edelgard," Hubert materializes seemingly from nowhere. "I mean, 'Your Majesty'."

The Imperial Commander from before resumes his role. "Get to work, everyone!" He commands. "The Crest Stones belong to us now! And take those filthy bones, too."

"**Insolence!**" Rhea's voice thunders so impossibly loud that the Imperials freeze where they stand. "You will atone for the sin of tramping on this holy resting place." She looks to where Byleth is sitting. "Professor, destroy these villainous traitors who dare dishonor our creator!"

For a moment, everyone is at a standstill. The Imperial soldiers seem to be waiting for something, and Edelgard's eyes are glued to Byleth. Byleth tries to read what her student is trying to tell her.

"Wait! What's the meaning of this, Edelgard?" Petra said, breaking the stillness. "You... made use of us? Why?"

Edelgard ignores her. "I'm sorry, my teacher," she says, her eyes still on Byleth. "I cut this path, and now I must follow it. My friends, I ask that all of you stay back. It is not my intention to fight you." She turns to her troops. "By order of the Adrestian emperor, Edelgard von Hresvelg, I command you to collect the Crest Stones! If anyone attempts to stop us, kill them!

There is general confusion, but the Imperial soldiers resume their pillaging. The small band of Knights that had accompanied the Ceremony, too few in number, rushes to meet the invaders and a battle ensues.

Byleth steps off the throne.

There is no time to think. People are being killed. The guards and priests near the entrance were probably already dead.

The Black Eagles are unsure of their next move. Byleth quickly absorbs the sight. Six official house representatives surrounded by adjutant students and student battalions… they are looking to her for answers. No time for her to be conflicted. She has to lead.

Hesitation means more death. Think later. Action now.

Byleth draws her divine weapon. The blade glows a brilliant red in her hand. "Stop the Imperial Army!"

* * *

**Author's Note**

* * *

Next chapter is probably where some sort of a choice gets made. I can see it going either way. It'll definitely depend on how this all writes out when I get to work on it. I have no idea how this ends.


	10. (3) Uprising

"Stop the Imperial Army!"

Four words pierce the air like a knife. A battlefield commander has to be loud, and Professor Eisner delivered volume in spades.

Those four words told Hubert everything he needed to know, sending a wave of regret and resentment washing over him. He _knew_ this was going to be the outcome. He _knew_ it. He had allowed his sentimentality, his sympathy to his liege, to cloud his assessment of the situation.

Professor Eisner's Black Eagles are a highly trained, highly synchronized company. Even having lost two commanders from its formation, they are a powerful force to be reckoned with. Like a wave of acid, they wash over the Holy Tomb, melting the Imperial forces before them. Only the presence of the Slithers' Crest Beasts combined with the Imperial force's superior numbers keep his former classmates from immediately overwhelming their position.

"Metodey," Edelgard says to her commander, "Stall them for as long as you can. I am counting on you,"

The Commander swishes his blade in the air in response. "With pleasure, your Majesty."

The Emperor's eyes are riveted in the direction of the Professor's position. She watches her former teacher slaughter her men and women. Her soldiers' lives become fodder to her weakness.

Hubert sighs quietly to himself. He hopes that she is, at this very moment, regretting her foolish girl's crush, regretting the choices that she's made on the basis of selfish emotion. He wisely does not comment. He does not need to. It is probably for the best that he allowed this to happen. Some lessons must be learned the hard way. Byleth Eisner represents the last of Edelgard's weakness, a step which the young Emperor must overcome, and he knows that she will rise to face that weakness no matter her sentiments.

A gaggle of Seiros Knights leap out from a hidden position. They had been waiting for their numbers to thin, and with Metodey gone, they are ready to take their chances. Edelgard hefts her axe, the divine Aymr, and eyes down her opponents. She challenges them to try. Hubert notes their hesitation and takes the opportunity to cast several spells in their direction.

One knight falls immediately, and the rest are taken off-guard. Seeing that they cannot hesitate the knights quickly organize the charge.

"Your Majesty!" A voice shouts from the Holy Tomb's entrance behind them. "Report!"

Edelgard ignores the voice. She gives a mighty shout, and cleaves the first knight to reach her. The man raises his weapon to block the strike and is split into two along with his weapon. Before the others can react, the Emperor slips into their ranks and cuts down one more, severing a second knight at her waist. Hubert tosses in another readied spell, sapping the life from a third foolish knight. They make quick work of the poorly prepared enemy.

"It was reckless to presume just the two of us would be enough to hold the entrance here," Hubert comments over the knights' dead bodies.

"Well I was right, wasn't I?" Edelgard answers and turns to the reporting soldier. "Quickly," she commands.

"Yes your Majesty," the man says from his kneeling position. "Our forces have breached the outer walls. The students and Knights of Seiros have been pushed back into the monastery. The main army is ready to charge the breach."

"Good work," Edelgard says. "Are Lord Arundel's mages still waiting outside?"

"Yes your Majesty."

"Signal for them to come as quickly as they are able and return to your position."

"Yes your Majesty." The man bows and rushes back to the outside world.

"Our main objective is achieved," Hubert says. "Shall we retreat?"

Edelgard turns back to watch the scene before her. Her former teacher is already on the steps, battling Commander Metodey and his battalion.

"Wait."

Hubert experiences a rare moment of annoyance towards the powerful woman standing next to him, and he withholds the first biting remark that he thinks of.

The Black Eagles are finally within range.

To the right, the princess of Brigid races past two archers, dodging their arrows as she slips into their midst. Both archers are quickly killed. To the left, the bodies of Metodey's battalion are piling to the side. Metodey is hurt. Only a few of his men remain. They cover him as he staggers away from the approaching demon.

"Wait, no!" He shouts with fear. "I was just following orders! I just... Graaargh!"

Byleth steps over the commander's body. At the same time, the pattering footsteps of a small battalion from outside approach.

"Ours," Hubert says.

"Ready your warp staves," Edelgard says to the mages at fore of the newly arrived battalion. "On my signal."

The mages do as they are told just as the Black Eagles, followed by the Archbishop, reach their position.

Byleth stops about three meters in front of them. The units behind her stop with her.

The Archbishop walks to Byleth's side, her voice strained. "You have disappointed me, Edelgard. To think that a descendant of House Hresvelg would dare betray the holy church…"

"So it is my teacher who stands in my way." Edelgard says, deliberately ignoring the Church's highest authority. There is a sad bitterness in her voice.

Byleth seems prepared to say something but is interrupted by the anger of an insulted Archbishop.

"Professor," she says, her tone now filled with wrath. "Kill Edelgard at once. She is a danger to all of Fódlan. Such a rebellious heart cannot be allowed to keep beating."

There is a moment in which no one moves. Hubert notes the Professor's hesitation. All expectations are sitting on her shoulders.

Still standing beside the Archbishop, Byleth begins to speak.

"I made a promise and I intend to keep it," she says. "I wish to hear your explanation. Have you exhausted all nonviolent options?"

Edelgard's entire body tenses at the familiar question, one which Professor Eisner had been fond of posing over the course of the year. The situation gives Hubert a bad feeling. The one weakness she cannot face is the Professor's offered hand. If only the damned professor could just declare herself an enemy and save Edelgard from having to suffer this meaningless indecision. Not for the first time, Hubert wishes that they had followed through with his plans for assassination at Enbarr.

"It's too late," Hubert says, taking the initiative and breaking his lord from her trance "We don't have time for explanations. Let us leave, now!"

The units behind them take his words as the signal. Battalion units quickly move up front to cover them as the mages activate their warp staves.

Hubert and Edelgard find themselves at the mouth of the cave.

"We must hurry," Hubert mounts one of the many horses waiting at the entrance. "To the convoy."

Edelgard doesn't speak. She mirrors Hubert's movements and follows behind him.

* * *

"Edelgard is one of my children," Mother says, and it is enough.

She is unhappy about how the events unfolded and disagrees with Mother's choice of action, but she understands. It's a discussion they are going to have later.

* * *

Judging by the numbers below, Byleth estimates thirty thousand or so units marching against them. Including all the monastery's fighting units, their numbers are at the very best ten to one. It's the sort of odds that can negate all experience, strategy and training.

Even the world's greatest swordmaster cannot dodge a wall of ten spears closing in on them from all sides. The enemy would have to be _trained to intentionally lose_ to fail with those numbers. A child with five minutes of instruction could execute a standard spear formation, though he may lack the strength and endurance to do so for any useful length of time.

Even with preparation, the enemy they face is nearly insurmountable, and they are far from prepared.

Still, she has to do what she can to protect the people of Garreg Mach. She reaches for her sword and is stopped by a gentle hand.

Rhea steps to the edge of the hillside and looks back at her with a loving smile.

"Everybody here, young and old, is in your hands."

Byleth looks away, unable to bear Rhea's earnesty and affection.

Apparently satisfied, Rhea turns back to face the sight of the oncoming soldiers.

Then, without warning, she flies.

A massive shadow appears over the sky, and Byleth gazes up in awe. The Immaculate One lives up to her name.

The pearl-white dragon lands with a crash below, crushing several invaders under its feet. A beam of fire blasts from its jaws, incinerating all in its path.

The stream of soldiers loses its forward momentum in the face of this monster.

Byleth immediately understands what she needs to do. Rhea has given her a working strategy. If Rhea could keep the bulk of the Imperial Army at bay, cutting off those already inside the town from further reinforcements, the rest of the students and knights could deal with the portion of the invasion that had managed to slip through.

It is a plan that requires Rhea to stand her ground on the Monastery's central path. As long as the enemy cannot defeat the dragon, their invasion will fail.

Just as Rhea is about to charge a second blast, just as Byleth is about to join the Monastery's forces, thunderous steps rumble from the deep in the forest. They are followed by enormous demonic beasts, each roughly the size of Rhea's dragon form.

And just like that, the plan is lost. The beasts throw themselves onto Rhea's body, wings, limbs. They pin her against the sides of the Monastery's inner wall with an earthshaking crash.

Byleth finds herself arriving just in time to send the tip of her divine weapon crashing into the unsettling mask of the beast holding down Rhea's upper body. Rhea struggles free and flies to Byleth's position.

Her voice is garbled but recognizable. "Why have you come?" She asks angrily.

Byleth is momentarily confused. To fight. What did Rhea expect her to do?

She notices Rhea's attention and turns to see a small army of mages headed by a pale-faced old man. It is the man who had blocked Byleth's attempt to save her father, the man who had somehow negated her divine pulse with his magic.

A bolt of dark magic shot toward her, and she is saved from a direct hit by her quick reflexes. The body of the spell slams against her sword, but continues to push her back.

The bolt explodes and suddenly, Byleth finds herself falling.

The last thing she sees is Rhea being subdued by the remaining demonic beasts. The last thing she hears from the world above is Rhea's desperate cries of anguish.

Her divine pulse… it isn't working for some reason. She'd probably used too many when she was fighting in the Holy Tomb. It is either that or it is the man's magic, Thallus's magic, that is suppressing the ability. Was it this same magic that had managed to kill Sothis a thousand years ago?

**Sleep. **A familiar voice commands, and she does.

* * *

**Author's Note**

* * *

5 year time skip? Good. I'm going on a 5 day hiatus because I've got literal call of duty. Next update will be Sunday at earliest.


	11. (3) Misgivings

_Have you exhausted all non-violent options?_

The words give her an involuntary shudder.

Hubert leads them into the field where a small convoy is waiting.

"The Emperor needs rest," Hubert announces from atop his mount. Attendants immediately move to help her off of hers.

"No," she says, speaking her first words since she'd left the Holy Tomb. "I must see this through to its end. We shall join the forces up in the Monastery town."

She steers her steed back towards the Academy and is presented with an incredible sight.

Floating high over the heads of her soldiers, a monstrous shadow flutters into the center of the invasion. The sound of the monster's flapping wings beat the air like rolling thunder before its haunches strike the hill with an earthshaking crash. Her soldiers' movements come to an abrupt stop, their momentum shattered.

The beast opens its jaws and a powerful jet of magical fire bursts forth. Entire buildings crumble under the blast, and a line of Imperial soldiers disintegrate under the beast's fiery breath, leaving a long, scorched trench in the once grassy knoll.

It is the Immaculate One, as Solon had described to them. She even looks exactly as shown in the picture that Solon had of her.

The beast which stood against the Imperial invasion is Lady Rhea's true form, a monster that has controlled the continent from the shadows for a thousand years.

The Emperor somehow regains her steely resolve in the face of this foe. Raising her heavy axe high in the air, she points herself toward this new obstacle.

"Onwards!"

Her soldiers rally to her, and Hubert gives their allies a nod. He feels somewhat relieved. The more distance that he can put between his liege and her destructive obsession, the better.

The mages waiting with the convoy, each with a valuable Crest stone in hand, begin to transform. Their bodies are consumed by the Crest stones' overwhelming powers, and, in a matter of seconds, six mages are replaced by six towering creatures.

* * *

It is dark, and the church is teeming with bodies. She barely avoids stumbling over the helm of a fallen Knight as she walks into the cathedral. Moonlight flows through the broken ceiling of the once beautiful architecture, and in that light, she could see her soldiers gathered at various points. Some lay against pillars, others are busy carting corpses out of the place. A few of the Archbishop's clergy can be found tied together. The fate that awaits them is death.

She surveys the scene quietly. The battle had been difficult, but the day was won. The sacrifices made here would not be in vain.

"Your Majesty," a voice calls.

It is her uncle, Lord Arundel.

"Hello uncle. You look awfully spotless for one who has just fought in one of history's bloodiest battles," she comments.

"Yes, well…" the man hints at delivering an answer but chooses not to. "The Knights have scattered," he tells her with relish. "The Deceiver and her monastery has stood an ugly blight against humanity for nearly a thousand years. Now, she has been captured and her Church has been crushed. 'Tis a long awaited victory to mankind."

With a practiced smile, the Emperor hides her contempt. "And the Professor?"

"Aaah. The Fell Star-" Arundel's mood is unchanged as he ponders the query. "-has fallen."

"What of her body?" She presses.

Arundel smiles contentedly. "It is at the bottom of Garreg Mach's chasm. As good as dead."

As good as dead isn't good enough, especially when she takes into account the Professor's long record of evading death against impossible odds.

"I see," she says, and decides to change the subject. "You say you've captured the archbishop?"

"Yes."

Her uncle waits, content with his answer.

"Bring her to me," she says calmly. "I wish to speak with her."

"You shall, your Majesty," Arundel answers.

"Before the night ends," she clarifies.

Arundel continues to smile. He stares at her. He makes no demand or refutation. He waits.

"Do you have anything to say?" she asks, filling the void between them.

"Hmm," Lord Arundel hums.

Edelgard decides to change the subject again to something more palatable. "Remember," she says, "The war is not over until the Lords of Faerghus and Leicester have submitted to the will of the Empire, until Fodlan is united. I'm counting on you for your continued support in the upcoming effort."

"You shall have our support for the war," Arundel says.

"You will allow me to see the archbishop as well."

"As you wish." The man finally acquiesces. "I will provide your Majesty with escort to our caravan as soon as can be arranged. There, you may gaze upon the wicked serpent all you like. May our tryst be long and fruitful. For the sake of humanity!"

"For the sake of humanity," she agrees. The words are supposed to serve as a reminder to what she is fighting for, but strangely, their utterance deepens the unshakable sense of wrongdoing that she has been feeling.

For the sake of humanity, she had turned against the ones whom she had grown to love and ordered the death of many innocents. For the sake of humanity, she had judged all other alternatives impossible, unlikely or greatly suboptimal. For the sake of humanity, she had chosen the option of sacrificing the peoples' lives and livelihoods to a continental war. _For the sake of humanity_... the words somehow taste like ashes on her tongue.

The bitterness is accentuated by a horrible whisper of delusion.

_The Professor would have had a better answer._ The delusion tells her, _if only you had asked._

The whisper almost overwhelms her with regret, but she is saved by the image of her Father's seething eyes and clenched fists, of Jurgen von Hresvelg cackling madly as he threw himself off the castle's ramparts. She remembers Karl von Hresvelg promising to keep her safe when her father couldn't, betraying his promise months later when he attempts to kill her. She remembers the spirit which had helped her survive, the only spirit she could trust when all else had abandoned her.

_You must rely only on yourself._ She whispers back. _There is no other way._

"Call my generals to me!" She shouts. Her voice rings loud against the low chatter and tarnished stones of the once pristine cathedral.

Slow noises of assent echo back, and her soldiers creak into action.

The Emperor stands with her axe angled down and her feet planted firmly apart. Resting her palms on the hilt of her weapon, she waits. The ghosts of her restless past hound her to no avail; nothing will stop her from moving forward and fulfilling her chosen destiny.

* * *

"Wake her," she commands.

The mages glance at Lord Arundel, but do nothing.

Her uncle shakes his head. "We cannot risk such a move, not before we have her properly secured."

"Properly secured? Like I was?"

"Precisely," her uncle nods, betraying no emotion.

"Wake her," she commands again.

"Your Majesty-" Arundel begins to object.

"If she poses a threat, I will personally destroy her," Edelgard says firmly. "Do as I ask. Your Emperor commands it."

Arundel sighs. "As you wish."

The light of magical restraint dims. Bound to a flat, tabular surface and surrounded by mages, Archbishop Rhea blinks her eyes open. The mages holding her suddenly buckle under some invisible strain, but they manage to hold.

"Lady Rhea," Edelgard says. "I wish to speak with you."

The Archbishop blinks again. With a heavy shout, she strains her arms against the magic holding her down, but Arundel's mages remain stalwart in maintaining their stances.

She cranes her neck, her ageless visage turns in Edelgard's direction. Her pupils are lizard-like slits. "_**Foolish girl!**_" she roars, her voice causes the birds in the surrounding forest to burst into the sky in one startled flock. "**You've ruined everything! You will be punished for your crimes! You have hurt me and you have hurt my mother! You will **_**pay!**_"

For a moment, the Archbishop looks as if she is about to overcome her bonds, and Edelgard readies her weapon. She will do what needs to be done if the monster threatens to fight.

But the Archbishop seems unable to call up her strength and she snaps back into position, panting. Her anger is palpable and suffocating even from a distance.

Edelgard looks to Lord Arundel. "I'm glad your mages are up to the task."

"As am I," her uncle responds.

"Speak, girl," Rhea commands, interrupting their exchange. "I shall listen, but understand that nothing you say will redeem you from the disgrace you've caused to your family's legacy."

"My family's legacy is a legacy of servitude to you and your lies." Edelgard says calmly. "Do you deny it?"

The Archbishop's expression is dark, but she doesn't respond.

"The story of the Church's origins," Edelgard continues. "Was passed to me from my father, and him from his father before him dating all the way back to the first Adrestian emperor. The Church of Seiros is a religion of false propaganda, designed to keep the masses under control. Do you deny it?"

Still, the Archbishop is silent, and Edelgard feels herself becoming annoyed.

"You stifled human growth and maintained the hierarchy of Crests and nobility in order to foster conflict. With the three territories under conflict, the Church of Seiros becomes a necessary entity of peace-making. You did it all to keep Fodlan under your thumb. Do you deny it?!"

"You are a delusional fool," the Archbishop says quietly, and Edelgard loses her temper.

"You had a _thousand years_ to make things right! Yet we are constantly at war. People are dying just so you can stay in power! My siblings were killed during the nobility's attempt to carve the Crest of Flames into their bodies. I was cut by ten thousand knives everyday! You have no idea what I had to suffer because of the world you've created! And what for? So that I could join the masses as a servant of the Church?!"

"Your Majesty," Hubert interjected.

"_What, Hubert?!_" Edelgard says, her voice bordering on shouting.

"I know of ways to… make her talk," he suggests darkly. "If you wish it, I will see it done."

"No," Edelgard says after taking a moment to think and calm down. "I just want her to understand. The lives of delusion we'd all live if we didn't topple her. That is what I am fighting for. I am fighting for the people's freedom to truly think for themselves. I am fighting to open the skies for humanity, so that it can carve its own way into the future without false idolatry to oppress its mind and spirit."

"Stupid girl," Rhea says, her anger slightly abided. "The fire you are playing with is beyond your comprehension. You will burn Fodlan to ashes chasing an absurd ambition. I have seen too much of human nature to think otherwise. Heed my words."

"I understand." Edelgard smiles sadly. "You see us humans as stupid sheep who cannot stumble even ten paces into the hills without your guidance."

The Archbishop's silence and her contemptuous expression are all Edelgard needs to verify her words.

"That is why we must oppose you," she continues. "As long as you stand over us, holding us down, we will never be free. I will turn you over to my Uncle now. I am truly sorry for what he will do to you, but it is not any more than what has been done to me. I hope you can understand. Let us leave, Hubert."

An entourage of Imperial units follow as Edelgard exits the caravan. Her steps are sure and purposeful, and her eyes gaze firmly into the dark path in front of her. They make their way through various camps where her soldiers can be seen resting.

"I cannot express how glad I am to see you return to your usual self," Hubert says to her.

"Are you?" Edelgard asks.

"Unquestionably," is Hubert's reply.

"I'm sorry for worrying you," Edelgard apologizes.

"It is of no consequence. The only way is forward, as you once said to me in my own darkest hour." Hubert says. "No matter where this path leads, it will be my honor to walk it with you until the very end."

Hubert's usual words are comforting, but they do little to allay the tight, puckering feeling in her chest. It's a pain that she knows will fade with time, as all things do.


	12. (4) Promises

**Note: CH.13 was deleted, and CH. 12 was partially rewritten. I wasn't happy with what I had, and it gave me a bad case of writer's block. Thus, rewrite.**

* * *

Sitting just outside the perimeter of moonlight flooding in from a gap in the walls, a lone figure in heavy red armor rests in the shadows. Dim sounds of forestry and intermittent nightlife permeate the otherwise quiet floor.

The figure stirs, and the joints of its armor chafe, creating a scraping noise. Her one night of freedom in five years, and it is spent chasing a phantom. There is no rhyme or reason to it. Only sentimentality. An incomplete disc peeks over thin wisps of cloud - a sinking half moon. Aside from the broken town and crumbling infrastructure, Garreg Mach looks exactly as it had five years ago. The biggest difference, however, is the quiet. No errant conversations floating out of windows. No clanking armor patrolling the territory. The place is bereft of life, and the quiet lends itself to reflection.

Her thoughts somehow lead her to her childhood. She does not remember what it was like to be a child, to be loved by her mother. Everything before the experiments are a blur - vague pieces, inconsistent dreams and hearsay at best.

There is one memory that stands above the rest, but she isn't sure whether or not the memory is only something she'd constructed in order to help her withstand the darkness.

Her hands fall habitually to the blade hidden at her waist. At least the blade is real.

As for the memory, all she has is a shadow - a faceless boy handing her a dagger. His voice was clear and earnest. _No matter how hard things get, you can't give in, OK? You've got to cut a path to the future you wish for, no matter what._

Those words had been her strongest defense, buoying her just above the border of insanity. Cutting through the darkness like a hot knife through butter, they lit a fire that burned so unbearably inside her, it felt like a miracle that everything she touched hadn't turned to flames.

The vision of a brighter future became her God - a future where all the shadowy evils are blasted away by the illuminating light of all that is good. Her desire to see that future had been stronger than even the pain. Stronger than anything she has ever experienced since.

Still, even the brightest flame is not impervious to the withering passage of time.

_What are you doing here?_ A voice asks her. Her own voice, criticizing her idiocy.

_Facing my demon._ She answers. _Keeping my promise._

_What is it you are hoping for?_ The voice asks again. _That she would come?_

The question leaves her feeling unsure and strangely vulnerable. Her answer is almost a whimpering plea. _But she promised._

A stronger line of reasoning, constructed as an afterthought, comes trailing after. Byleth always kept her promises. If Byleth doesn't appear by the end of the night, then that means her teacher will have broken a promise at last. Then, finally, she can leave her past behind her. It will be all the confirmation she'd need in order to move forward.

_You've always wanted someone to rely on,_ Her inner critic says wistfully. _But you've always known that the only person you can rely on is yourself. Let this night put your doubts to rest._

Having finally identified the ghost that had plagued her and driven her to Garreg Mach, Edelgard sits back and allows herself to relax.

It will all be over soon. Once the night ends, she will have cast away the last of her weaknesses.

* * *

Time passes, and somehow she doesn't feel the urge to fall asleep. There is something electrifying about the night, the only one in five years that she is allowing herself to indulge in. Maybe it is the knowledge that this is the last bit of time she will have to herself for a long time that keeps her awake - a last precious reprieve from the weight she carries. Tonight is her night of rest. Tomorrow, she will shoulder the world. Tomorrow...

A sound alerts her and she freezes. She quickly re-analyzes her preselected position: a blind spot by the wall, away from the moonlight, and a wide view of the room. She has the advantage.

The barely perceptible sound of padding footsteps climb the stairs, and Edelgard draws her sword.

The footsteps reach the top and Edelgard can hear it nearing where she is hidden.

An amorphous shadow lurks into view, growing slowly as the figure approaches. She traces the shadow's outline. Single unit. Probably holding a sword.

The figure strolls right past her position. Green hair. Sword of the Creator.

Edelgard knees almost buckle underneath her. With concentrated effort, she grips the hilt of her weapon tightly to keep it from falling out of her hands.

The figure doesn't turn to check the blindspot, choosing instead to walk to the open archway where archers can more easily land a shot - uncharacteristic inattention as far as she can tell.

Maybe she had fallen asleep and hadn't realized it. Maybe this is one of her nightmares.

Only one way to tell for sure.

Even in her armor, she is able to close the distance in a matter of seconds.

The figure whips around just in time. Green eyes without a trace of surprise. A face without expression.

Their blades clash. Once. Twice. The third clash leaves no doubt that this is exactly who she thinks it is. Edelgard finds herself almost too shocked to speak. A wave of questions and years of unfulfilled wishes overwhelm her and she cannot even begin to express a fraction of what she wants to say.

The former professor slowly retracts her blade and stows it at her waist.

"I wasn't sure I would find anyone here," Byleth says, a rare smile ghosting her eyes. "I'm glad you were able to keep your promise."

"It can't be!" she bursts aloud in response. "Is it really you?! But I searched everywhere and never found a trace! My teacher… What have you been doing all this time? Where have you been?!"

"I was sleeping," Byleth replies as if she were commenting on the weather.

"Joking?!" Edelgard barely withholds her laughter. She is so happy she doesn't know what to do with it. "At a time like this?! You do realize it's been five years since you disappeared! Do you have any idea how guilty I felt? How broken my heart was?! I searched high and low after you vanished. Although there was no proof, I somehow knew you were alive. All this time, I led everyone as best I could and fought with all my heart. It's been a difficult path to walk alone."

A sharp reminder cuts her outburst short. The Professor hadn't yet committed to walking her path with her. How could she have forgotten? Fighting the need to step forward and embrace the Professor, she looks away, her heart pounding with a sudden anxiety.

"Do you... still feel the way you did all those years ago?" She asks hesitantly. "You said then that you would fight my weaknesses with me, that you would guide me for as long as I called you teacher. As for me..."

_My resolve has not faltered._ She wants to say, but the words ring false.

She looks up, gazing into Byleth's piercing eyes, begging her teacher to help her.

Byleth's eyes quickly appraise Edelgard's apparel. "I really was asleep for the last five years, you know."

"You were not joking? Then… you really don't know what's going on?"

"I can see that you are still fighting," Byleth notes, gesturing at her attire. "The same war you started five years ago?"

"Y-yes," Edelgard confirms, Byleth's words sound almost like an accusation, and they make her feel somehow ashamed. She is starkly reminded of the Professor's Goddess-given gifts, and the dread indecision she felt five years ago is back. She hates the feeling, this weakness. She hates not knowing. "I hate this," she admits, echoing her thoughts. "I want to know that you will stand by my side no matter how many people turn against me, no matter how much blood I have to spill. My teacher. Please. I refuse to be tortured by this any longer. Choose."

Byleth thinks for a second, giving Edelgard enough time to doubt.

"I want to hear the answer to my question," Byleth says, finally.

Edelgard battles with her internal conflict, her impatience, and manages to reply, "What question?"

"Before you started the war, did you exhaust all non-violent options?"

"I-" A feeling of betrayal washes against her in waves. "That's impossible. The number of non-violent options is infinite. How could I possibly exhaust all of them?"

"Why is the war necessary?"

"Because great change is impossible without great sacrifice," Edelgard answers. "Our circumstances determine our understanding of the world. Only those who have seen the world's suffering can understand the lurking darkness, the enemy. Understanding the enemy is the first step to defeating it. Isn't that right, professor?"

"Understanding improves your odds significantly," Byleth answers carefully.

"I understand the enemy," Edelgard declares, continuing her speech. "I see the enemy because I have suffered it. I understand how deeply entrenched the Church is. I also understand that it must be removed. The only way to unseat its influence is to utterly and decisively destroy it, along with all those who seek to defend it. There is no other way."

"And, even in your capacity as Adrestia's Emperor, to ask the Archbishop to dispel the Church in an open negotiation is fruitless and impossible," Byleth adds.

"That is correct," Edelgard confirms. "I've thought briefly on negotiation, but based on what I was able to gather in my time as a student at the Monastery, negotiation would not only be futile but destructive. To make the Archbishop aware of my goal would put all other potential options at extreme risk. When it comes to the Church, Lady Rhea is unyielding. You should know that as well as I."

"That's not true," Byleth states.

Edelgard's brows furrow visibly. "What do you mean that's not true?"

"Edelgard," Byleth takes a moment to breathe, as if preparing what herself for what she is about to say. Edelgard finds herself becoming defensive, and she is ready to shoot down anything her teacher might bring up. "Rhea was going to step down and give me leadership of the Church."

"Why would she do that?"

"I have one more question for you before I give you the answer," Byleth deflects. "What is it you are trying to achieve by destroying the Church? What is it you are chasing?"

"I…" Edelgard closes her eyes with obvious impatience "Thought you would already know."

"I would like to hear you say it, so I know that I've made the right choice."

_Made the right choice._ Has the choice already been made? Edelgard attempts to swallow the flutter of hope rising inside her, and she becomes suddenly afraid of messing up her delivery. "I want a world where… where people can live without prejudice, where their position in the world is determined by their own merits rather than their crest affinities. I want people to be freed from the yoke of religion so that they can pursue what is real and true and meaningful. I want to give humanity its freedom. I want a world where no one has to suffer what I've suffered. So that people like… like Miklan and Dorothea are afforded the opportunity to achieve what they deserve. So that people like Marianne and- and Mercedes and so many others like them can strive forthrightly in the world without having to live a life of false dependence on some imaginary fantasy. I know my answer is insufficient, but that is what I wish to see. The war… it's-"

"I understand," Byleth interrupts. "I've had similar thoughts. I understand."

Edelgard feels a pressure lift from her chest, and she is internally relieved. "I'm glad," she says. "Now, the answer to my question?"

"I am the Goddess Sothis," Byleth says.

"You- what?!" Edelgard's voice is loud and startled.

"I am the Goddess," Byleth repeats. "I could have helped you if you had asked me. We could have avoided the war entirel-"

"You are lying," Edelgard's expression is tense, and there is a threatening edge to her voice. "But… if you are the Goddess, then why are you telling me now? Why didn't you tell me before?! If you were going to gain control of the Church, why didn't you say so?! Why now!? Why did you allow them to hurt me?! You have no idea- I… I was in so much… pain. I-"

Byleth's expression is unreadable, and Edelgard swallows her shameful display of self-pity.

"The Church's description of the Goddess is false," Byleth says softly. "If I could, I would end all the unnecessary suffering in the world. But I am not all-powerful. I do not hear prayers, and I am doing my best just as you are."

"I don't care," Edelgard says coldly, unreasonably. "Are you with me, or are you not?!"

"Do you want me to be?"

"More than anything," she blurts out before she could stop herself. The look she receives, that questioning look, defeats any chance that her teachers could have misheard, and she feels herself working up a blush of embarrassment, of shame for potentially revealing the colors of her weakness.

"More than anything..." her teacher ponders aloud, making the situation even worse. It is such a Byleth thing to do, to make her feel like this, that Edelgard would have found it funny if it weren't so incredibly frustrating. "Edelgard, I will stand by your side no matter how many people turn against you. No matter how much blood is spilled. I will help you achieve your goal."

Edelgard finds herself almost in tears, but she manages to hold back her emotional impulse. "My teacher! I- I thank you!"

This time, she doesn't restrain herself as she wraps Byleth in a tight embrace.

"But you must heed my guidance when I offer it." Byleth says with a quiet firmness.

The words give Edelgard pause. "What does that mean?"

Byleth places her hands on her student's shoulder and pushes her back gently. "You must allow me to cut this path with you."

Edelgard's gaze flickers from her teacher's eyes to her nose, lips, and neck. Her gaze slides to the left toward the floor. _I am going insane._ She thinks to herself. The fundamental issue is trust. Can she trust her teacher to fulfill her vision? Isn't that what she's always hoped for? To be able to rely on another? To trust them?

_You can only rely on yourself._ A voice whispers sadly. _You can only trust yourself. No one will suffer for you like you suffered for yourself. No one will ever understand you like you understand yourself._

It is the same whisper that had saved her before, a whisper with the strength to bear thousands of hours of intense physical pain. That strength now weighs against her, dragging her down. The conviction is so strong and so much in conflict with what she wants it almost tears her apart on the inside.

Edelgard breaths a haggard breath and realizes that she is crying. "I'm sorry," she says through her tears. "I must cut my own path forward into the future. No matter what."

"Then let me show you all the paths available to you," Byleth replies. "If I can't do that, what kind of teacher would I be?"

Edelgard gently drops the sword that she'd unconsciously drawn. What was she going to do with it? Kill her teacher?

"Do you wish for a teacher or do you wish for a subordinate?" Byleth asks patiently. "I can only promise to be the former."

Byleth's sword-side hand reaches forward in a gesture of trust.

Slowly, tentatively, Edelgard attempts to raise her own hand, and it feels like the most difficult thing she's ever done. Her hand shakes and her palm is tense with sweat under her gauntlets. They are unimaginably heavy, and it takes all her will to even bring it up above her waist. _You can't trust her!_ The voice screams desperately. _They've always failed you! They will always fail you! You can't-_

She loses her will, and the pain is so strong she regrets coming. Even the miracle of seeing the Professor pales in comparison. Before her hand could fall, Byleth reaches forward and captures it.

Edelgard's carefully maintained posture crumbles, and she falters. The weight is unbearable, but somehow Byleth manages to catch her and hold her up.

"This is my weight now. My burden as much as it is yours," Byleth says in a low voice.

"My teacher," Edelgard whispers hoarsely. "I'm so tired. Please. Just tell me I can trust you."

"You can trust me," Byleth says simply, and for the first time since the experiments ended, Edelgard allows herself to be weak, allows Byleth to hold her - to make her feel protected. The entire situation is like a dream, and half of her believes that it is.

They sit quietly for a long time. Edelgard leans her weight comfortably against Byleth's frame, wondering all the while if she is going to wake up and discover that this madness was a dream all along.

"Would it be strange if I were to sing to you?" Byleth asks.

Edelgard shakes her head. "No," she says, her voice devoid of its usual command. The request is unusual, but she isn't in the mood to be contrary.

Byleth begins to sing. A song of glowing flames, drifting rivers and broken memories. Over and over again. The Adrestian Emperor finds herself shedding silent tears, but her tears are not tears of sadness, nor are they tears of happiness or anger or any of the usual suspects.

"Is this why you were crying?" Edelgard asks. She isn't sure why she remembers, but she does.

Byleth's singing stops. "When?" she asks, lapsing into silence as she is wont to do when thinking. "When Jeralt died?"

"Never mind."

* * *

**Some of your reviews helped me see why I was so unhappy with what I'd written previously. I feel a little better about where things stand now and might be able to write again. I'm in quarantine, so the winds are looking pretty good for some serious fanfictioning.**


	13. (4) Reunion I

"What happened to Rhea?"

Edelgard's breathing stops, and the feeling of conflict comes back.

"Rhea?" She asks, repeating the name.

"Yes," Byleth replies.

With her head resting in her teacher's lap, Edelgard looks up. Her tension vanishes into her teacher's gaze. The trust she'd managed to wrest from the depths of her own tortured soul is too precious to be allowed to die for something so petty, and she resolves again to give Byleth every ounce of trust inside her.

"She is in the capitol," Edelgard responds. "There might be some complications with my uncle, but… I'll take you to her if you think that's best."

"Then we should get going," Byleth says. "Tell me everything that's happened while I was sleeping."

* * *

She opens her eyes, sits up, and grabs at the small basin that she'd left at her feet the night before. It is almost too dark to see, but the half-moon affords her just enough light to find her wash-cloth and comb. Groggily, she splashes her face with cold water, and the shock wakes her pretty quickly. Then, she plunges her head into the basin to wash her mahogany hair. It isn't long before she is awake enough to pick a song to hum to herself.

It is more out of habit than anything that she continues this same ritual. In a world where everything is falling apart, her habits have become her anchor. Without them, she is afraid that she will fall apart as well. She spares a glance at her partner who is sleeping like a baby and feels a momentary envy. It isn't that he is unaffected. She doesn't think anyone can be unaffected by the horrible things they've seen and done. Not unless they were insane.

It isn't apathy. It's strength. The man lying to her side possesses a quiet will that allows him to be clear headed, relaxed even, in the face of constant strife. She hasn't seen anything faze him before, not even the initial revelation of Edelgard's betrayal.

With her hair washed, she dries it as best she can with her cloth and begins to comb it into shape.

A loud yawn emits from her side.

"Good morning, sweetheart," she chirps.

The man sits up and stretches. His long green hair is messy and tangled. "It's morning?" he asks, referring to the predawn darkness.

"Yes, Linhardt," she answers. "I'd say it's approximately half an hour before sunrise."

"Hm. Well. I'm going back to sleep," Linhardt falls back into his bedroll.

"You _will_ wash right?"

"Later," Linhardt assents sleepily.

* * *

The sun is down, and the moon is up. An entire day has passed, an entire day of travelling.

Their caravan rolls to a stop with Garreg Mach looming not too far in the distance. Dorothea looks to her side. "A bit far, don't you think?"

Linhardt is already in motion. "I'm washing my hair," he declares. "Where's the comb?"

"In my bag," Dorothea answers. Linhardt fills a basin from one of their jugs and gets to work.

"I didn't think you cared for appearances, honey." Dorothea says distractedly.

"Mhm," Linhardt replies just as distractedly. Dorothea decides not to push the issue. She probably wants him to look good for the unlikely reunion more than he does. Some things are better left alone.

"Do you really think the professor will be there?"

"She promised, didn't she?" Linhard answers.

Looking toward the monastery looming on a hill above the forest, she feels an involuntary nostalgia. "But it's been five years. Why now?"

Linhardt responds with silence. The sound of splashing water punctuates the non-response.

Dorothea waits. She knows he is thinking. Sometimes, she wishes she could know what goes on in that head of his. He tells her, of course, but that isn't the point.

"I have a theory," Linhardt says slowly. "About the professor."

"What theory?" She asks curiously.

"It's a theory that, if correct, means that the professor may very well be at the monastery as promised."

"What _theory?_" She asks again, her curiosity now completely engaged.

Linhardt finishes exfoliating and joins her on the ground. She hands him a sack and his staff which he takes.

The horses whinny impatiently, mirroring Dorothea's own temperament.

"Now my hair's wet," he complains.

"What. Theory." She asks again.

"Mmm," he hums lazily, and she decides to let up. For now.

"You're going to tell me by the time we get there."

"Ok," he replies, and she wonders if maybe he is delaying the answer just to give her something to think about to pass the time. It's an incredibly Linhardt thing to do, and she wouldn't put it past him.

They walk the rest of the way into the monastery town. "It has something to do with the Goddess doesn't it?" Dorothea asks, taking a random stab as they roll past the ruined gates. "Like Saint Seiros but better."

"Close," Linhardt says.

"And here I thought it would be something more… I don't know. Mysterious."

Linhardt shrugs. "I wouldn't be surprised if she actually _is_ the goddess herself."

Dorothea laughs. "That doesn't make sense," she says.

"That's how theories work," Linhardt replies comfortably.

"I guess we'll find out. D'you think anyone else will show up?"

"Edelgard might," Linhardt mumbles after a moment of thought.

"That's... true. Edie was quite, well, attached." The thought leaves Dorothea feeling conflicted. "What should we do if we see her? What if the Imperial Army is in the area?"

"I don't think they'll hurt us," Linhardt answers quietly. They slip off the main path and into the shadows; a precaution. "We haven't really participated in the war after the first year."

"They might not know that or see it that way," Dorothea says, her voice now lowered to just above a whisper. "Still. What should we do if we see her?"

Linhardt has no answer.

They reach the outskirts of the Monastery town. The area is quiet except for-

"Linhardt," she whispers sharply, catching her partner's attention. "Do you hear that?"

The sound of clashing metal and shouting float to their position.

"Yeesh," he replies with disgust. "Battle."

"Let's go see what's happening."

* * *

Caspar isn't sure what is going on. All he knows is that Bernadetta of all people had been adamant in coming for this 'reunion'. Sure he remembers the promise. Vaguely. But a lot has happened since they'd all agreed to have that class reunion. Besides, Garreg Mach is no longer chartered territory. Who knows what kind of hostile forces might be lurking?

Not that he'd mind of course. If anyone wants to test their strength against him, he'd gladly take up the challenge. The woman, the girl, walking next to him, on the other hand, has never been one for sudden fights to the death. Her fear is what makes her consistent ability to take down any enemy they'd ever encountered all the more impressive.

"_Wow_ you're amazing," Caspar says aloud in response to his thoughts, and he is sure that if it hadn't been so dark, he'd see Bernadetta become visibly flustered.

"Wha-?!" She almost shouts. "Don't say that!"

"But you are!" Caspar shouts back.

"No I'm-" Bernadetta cuts her words short. "Watch out!"

Caspar feels a great force crash into him before he can react. Bernadetta sends them both flying into the brushes with a rare display of strength. Over her shoulder, he manages to register the shafts of several arrows buried into the spot they had been walking.

"Thanks," he yells, leaping to his feet.

Bernadetta is already firing back. Two bodies slump from the parapets of the town's ruined buildings, each with an arrow in its head.

Shouts of alarm are coming from the direction of the foes they'd just killed, and Caspar finds himself running after Bernadetta.

"Where are you going?" He shouts.

"Just follow!" Her earlier frantic tone is replaced with the assertive command of a seasoned battlefield leader.

They find a small outcrop of walls to provide cover from enemy fire, the charred remnants of a building.

"Judging by the noise, I'd say there are around thirty of them at least," Caspar estimates.

"Oh gosh," Bernadetta cries, her franticness returning swiftly. "Just our luck!"

"Oy!" A voice shouts at them. "Come out and we ain't gon' hurt ya!"

"Pfft," Caspar laughs. "Unlikely."

"Sounds like bandits," Bernadetta replies. "They'll _definitely_ hurt us!"

"We got you surrounded!" Another voice shouts. Caspar peeks his head out. Silhouettes line the streets. Not good.

"Oh yeah?!" Caspar shouts back. He jumps out in full gear, ready to fight, and is met with an arrow slapping loudly into the crumbling stone next to him. A narrow miss. A group of archers draw their bows and Caspar jumps back into cover. The arrows clack harmlessly against the wall.

"Shit," he mutters. "Too many archers. Cowards!"

The sound of approaching footsteps alerts them to their urgent situation. Bernadetta nocks an arrow. "I'll hold them back. You take down any who cross that threshold."

She points at the broken excuse of a doorway.

"Gotcha," Caspar replies. Bernadetta pops her head up for a brief second to memorize the enemy's positions. Then, popping back down, she aims up toward the open sky, just above the wall, and shoots a blind shot.

She shoots a second arrow immediately after the first.

Shouts of pain and panic follow.

"Charge their position now!" A voice commands loudly, and the footsteps, previously cautious and slow, now thunder loudly toward where they were hiding.

"My turn!" Caspar yells, his voice booming louder than those of the charging foe.

The first to step in is sent flying right back out, his skull disintegrating under the force of the punch he receives. The sword he was holding clatters to the floor, and the second person to walk across steps on the fallen sword. He takes a half a second to adjust before a gauntlet smashes into the back of his skull. The third person to charge in hesitates at the broken doorway just long enough to be hit by an arrow in his belly.

"Come get some!" Caspar yells excitedly.

"Leave us alone!" Bernadetta shrieks, begging for the opposite

The onslaught comes to a stop.

"Friends!" A voice shouts. It is the same voice that had commanded the charge earlier. "I don't know what you are here for, but we're only here to scavenge the place for what's left. Y'know. make a little money. We don't mean any harm."

"Bandits?" Caspar shouts back.

"Yeah," the voice answers. "In times like these, can you blame us? Maybe we can share some loot, y'know what I mean?"

"Heh. No thank you. I can't blame you for being bandits." Caspar says. "But I can't just let you go either, now that I know who I'm dealing with. I've seen what you bandits have done. You know how it is."

"Oh, you're one of those." The voice speaking for the bandit group adopts a crestfallen attitude. "That's unfortunate. Well. You'd better stay behind that wall then while we loot the place because if you do anything unusual, I've got ten archers ready to gut ya. We'll be outta yer hair in no time. Got it?"

Bernadetta pops her head up briefly over the wall, "Um. I don't think they have ten archers. Or we'd have taken a volley already."

"We've gotta fight them," Caspar says.

"It's too risky," Bernadetta replies. "We should stay here."

"And let them go on to pillage, steal and murder?!" Caspar shouts.

"It's better than dying!"

An explosion and a glow of light brightens the night for a second, and there is shouting.

"Something just hit them!" Caspar yells, and the two peek out at the same time to see the bandits surrounded by chaos and flames. Seeing the hostile force's attention completely diverted, Caspar seizes the opportunity and leaps out. "Now's our chance!" He cries. "CHAARGE!"

Bernadetta follows reluctantly.

* * *

"CHAARGE!"

The voice carries to their position, and Dorothea is glad they'd decided to intervene. She could recognize that voice anywhere.

"Oh wow." Linhardt comments. "That's familiar. Got any meteors left?"

"Hey!" Someone shouts. "There's mages!"

"They're here too?!" Dorothea gasps. "Damned!"

"Time to go." Linhardt says.

They jump out of their position and race through the familiar streets of the broken town.

They round a corner and are faced with a swathe of bandits.

Dorothea sends a fire spell careening into the first one - a distraction, and they make another turn.

"Sheesh, I don't remember this town being so big." Linhardt complains.

"Keep firing, sleepyhead!" Dorothea commands as they near the northern sector of town.

A cluster of bandits is waiting for them at the entrypoint and their escape comes to a stop. The sudden encounter surprises both parties.

"Who the heck are you?!" One of the bandits, a red-haired youth holding a massive battle-axe asks fiercely. The leader, presumably

"We're new," Linhardt replies. "Just got told to go help scout the upper town."

"We've got them surrounded!" A voice shouts from behind them. The pursuing bandits reach their position. "Kill those mages!"

"No, we've got _you _surrounded!" Linhardt shouts back.

"Huh? Wait, what do you mean?" The bandits become confused.

No one moves for three entire seconds as the bandits try to make out who's who and what's what.

"Jerrick," the red-haired leader says slowly, addressing the pursuing bandit. "That you?"

"Yeah it's me, Kieran."

The confusion is settled, and Kieran, the leader smiles an evil smile.

"'New' are we?" he asks with unrestrained sarcasm.

"You ain't going nowhere," the pursuing bandit, Jerrick, says. "Ooh that one is a _beauty!_"

"We're surrounded," Dorothea notes, her voice strained.

"Oh," Linhardt says.

Dorothea draws silently on her magic and prepares to launch a last stand.

Linhardt grabs her hand, jolting her from her concentration, and before she can cast anything, Linhardt is gone, along with the bandits.

A warp spell.

Dorothea finds herself in the forest just outside the Monastery town. Alone.

* * *

His magic, depleted from the warp he'd cast on Dorothea, builds slowly. Too slowly.

The bandits block his intended route and his mind races, looking for an alternative.

_I'm going to die_. His internal voice tells him.

He stares ahead at the bandits walking toward him.

"Didn't expect so many of us, didja?" asks Jerrick. He is a large, hairless swordsman. Even his eyebrows were thinned to almost nothing.

"Looks like a woman though not as pretty as the other one," says another. He is equally large, and only half as hairless. Hair could be seen growing in thin tufts along the sides of his balding scalp. "Think we can make 'im squeal before we kill 'im?"

"I know self-destruct magic," Linhardt bluffs. "First person near me gets turned to ashes."

That stops the bandits' advance.

There is a brief stalemate as the bandits decide what to do.

They look to their leader, Kieran.

The man tsks. "Archers," he calls, but no one steps up.

"Archers!" The call is repeated throughout the bandit crowd, but no archer shows up.

"Where are all of our archers?" Someone shouts. "I swear we had at least ten of them!"

"I mean, any of us can use a bow," another bandit suggests. "Don't gotta be an archer."

A flash of motion from overhead. A blur. The bandit leader's head is severed from his body, and before the head had time to land, two more bandits fall victim to the unexpected attack. The sudden sound of clashing metal and rending flesh is so forcefully loud even Linhardt could not restrain an instinctual fear from shooting through his veins.

The fourth victim raises a small shield to block a coming strike only to have his shield shattered, his arm destroyed, and his body gashed clean through.

The head of the leader finally lands in the rubble, and the remaining cluster of bandits blocking the northern sector back away in fear, their will to fight completely disintegrated in the face of the overwhelming martial prowess they'd just witnessed.

Turning her back on them, the assailant walks right past Linhardt to face the men who had been pursuing him.

"Come. If you wish to put your lives to the test," she declares just loud enough to be heard. "The rest of you have thirty seconds to run."

The remaining bandits share looks of silent communication before retreating.

Linhardt stares into the red, armored back of the most infamous human being in all of Fodlan, and, despite his misgivings, he is glad to see her.

"You know, they could be gathering reinforcements," Linhardt suggests.

"Perhaps." With Aymr in one hand, Edelgard offers the other. Her face is lit with genuine pleasure as she addresses him, and he finds it hard not to feel the same. "Where have you been, Linhardt?"

Linhardt smiles back. The fulfillment of their shared promise somehow supersedes the war and everything that's been happening. At least for the moment.

He takes his house leader's hand.

"I was sleeping," he answers.


	14. (4) Reunion II

"How are there so many of you?!" Caspar yells in exasperation as he sends another body flying back into the crowd.

Bernadetta has all the archers' positions memorized and has been shooting them down, but they are eventually forced to retreat again.

Something is off. The numbers they are fighting are far too great to be those of a simple bandit group.

The bandits eventually stop the assault, likely to reanalyze the situation. They'd lost too many lives trying to take down a mere two people, and Bernadetta, putting herself in their shoes, imagines they are readying to retreat.

And then something happens. The sound of a marching army approach where they are taking cover.

"Crap," Caspar says from besides Bernadetta as he peeks down into the town. "That's at least two hundred people."

"Oh geez, Caspar." Bernadetta whimpers. "I'm so sorry for making you come here with me. I didn't know this would happen."

"That's ok, Bernadetta. I'll protect you, even if it kills me."

"I'm so sorry," is all Bernadetta can say. She is on the brink of tears, and Caspar doesn't know what to do.

"Those aren't ours!" One of the bandits below cries out. "Run!"

The bandits scatter, blowing past Caspar and Bernadetta's position.

"We should follow them," Caspar says after a moment.

"Wait," Bernadetta stops him. "I recognize that banner."

A crimson flag flickers in and out of the moonlight. It is too dark to see the black, winged insignia, but they both know it is there.

"Search and rescue!" A voice commands. "Find Her Majesty and protect her!"

"Edelgard's here!" Bernadetta's whispers loudly.

Caspar frowns. _Of course_ Edelgard would be here. "This is bad," he mutters. "Real bad."

He looks toward the other end of the street from their high vantage point and makes out silhouettes in the distant corner of town. The bandits that had run past them earlier are moving away from the western gate. Their route of escape is cut off by a second battalion-sized militia, and they are forced to fight to the death.

"North-eastern end is open. Let's go." Bernadetta says, and without wasting any more time and words, she leaps from one rooftop to the next in a display of amazing athleticism.

Caspar shakes his head sadly at a thought and follows suit.

Voices follow simultaneously.

"Who's that on the roof?"

"Capture them!"

They climb over walls and leap over obstacles, taking shortcuts that no one who is unfamiliar with the town could know. They near the northern sector, and their pursuers are far enough behind to be lost.

"We can escape from the forest in the back of the Cathedral," Caspar suggests, he runs ahead, turns a corner, and slams into someone who was also running. It is a bandit, and Caspar's first reaction is to throw a punch. The bandit is knocked down, along with a second bandit whose attempt at charging Caspar's position is foiled by an arrow in his bare, unarmored chest. Five bandits remain.

"Who's next!?" Caspar shouts.

"We don't have time!" Bernadetta says frantically. She is already drawing arrows when one of the bandits, a dark-haired young man who couldn't be much older than either of them, drops his sword and kneels. "This is too much. I just wanted to survive the war. I'm sorry for stealing and hurting people! Let us go, please!"

A cloud rolls across the moon, and light becomes scarce.

"You say that now," Caspar spits down at the barely visible shadow kneeling before him. "But I've seen entire villages slaughtered by you bandits. There was a boy-"

"We don't have time!" Bernadetta repeats loudly. "There's someone behind us!"

Caspar turns to see another shadow clamber down the high wall that they'd barely managed to climb earlier.

"Get out of here!" Caspar roars at the bandits.

"We can't!" The kneeling bandit cries. "_She's_ behind us!"

"Who?!" Caspar growls.

"_Caspar!_" Bernadetta shrieks. She is shooting arrows at the dark figure racing toward them, and all of her arrows miss their mark.

Their pursuer is somehow dodging and deflecting every shot. Caspar draws his axe from behind his back, leaps in front of Bernadetta, and blocks the blade meant to take her life. A second blade comes from below and for a moment, Caspar is sure that he'd been sliced open.

He is saved by Bernadetta who slams into the pursuer's body. The two roll into the grass-covered street and proceed to wrestle as moonlight returns to the scene. Caspar immediately recognizes their assailant. Purple, braided hair. Long legs. Sharp physique. Their former classmate, the princess of Brigid.

An enemy.

Bernadetta is subdued before Caspar could help and a knife slips threateningly under her neck.

"Do not be moving," Petra commands. "Or I will cut her throat."

Caspar's fists clench tight around his axe. "Petra," he says, and then turns on his feet to decapitate the bandit that had been kneeling earlier. The foolish youth drops the sword he'd been about to swing, and his body collapses.

The bandits rush him as one, and they are too weak and too slow. It takes him time, but he manages to kill two of them. The other runs back in the direction from where he came, and the last drops his weapon to loudly declare his surrender.

He is a clean-shaven man. Young. His face looks tired and old despite his apparent youth.

Caspar sends the young man's head flying in one sweeping blow. Blood spurts onto his armor and face, but he doesn't flinch.

He doesn't utter a single sound as he turns back to face the enemy.

"Let her go," he says quietly.

"You are enemy generals," Petra replies, and her answer says everything. "Surrender your weapons and I will not be hurting you."

Caspar does not drop his weapon. "Why is the Imperial army here?" He asks, and his mind immediately goes to that cursed promise they'd made - a curse of stupid sentimentality.

Another voice breaks in from behind him.

"Petra, let her go," it commands, sending a jolt of emotions shooting down Caspar's back.

Petra does as commanded. She stands to her feet, "Edelgard. Caspar and Bernadetta are-"

"Enemy generals, yes." Edelgard says, completing the sentence for her.

Caspar turns to see the person responsible for the five years of bloodshed, and he is only stopped by the people accompanying her.

Linhardt, who he hasn't seen in four years, and-

"Professor!" Petra announces in astonishment.

"_Professor?!_" Bernadetta cries shrilly at the same time, stealing the words from Caspar's own mouth.

"I'm glad to see all of you here," Byleth says with a small smile. "Where are the rest of my Black Eagles?"

No one answers for a brief second, and Caspar steps forward. "Professor, what are you-!? How?! You're back!"

"Yes, I am," Byleth replies. "And we have a lot to do. Let's-"

"Wait, Professor," Caspar interrupts. "I'm happy to see you again. Really, but-" he raises his blood-stained axe and points it at his former class leader. "That's Edelgard."

"I know," Byleth says.

"Then why-?"

"You will not be fighting tonight," Byleth says firmly. "Not while I'm here."

The student and teacher stare at each other for a tense moment. Caspar lowers his weapon.

"What is going on?" He asks.

"Looks like Hubert has mobilized my troops," Edelgard says, directing attention away from the immediate situation, She gazes at Petra. The noise of large ranks of soldiers storming the streets below them can be heard even from the distance.

"It was Ferdinand," Petra corrects her. "Hubert also is there. We have wishes to find and protect you."

"Ferdinand?" Edelgard is briefly surprised. "I will go meet them. Wait in the old classroom. Professor," she gives her teacher a sidelong glance. "Please keep them from killing each other."

Byleth nods.

"Wait, Edelgard!" Caspar shouts angrily, but is held back by a hand on his shoulder.

"Professor?" He tries to break free, but the professor doesn't let him go. "Why?"

"In the classroom," Byleth replies. "We'll talk there."


	15. (5) The Black Eagles

With Linhardt's help, Byleth uses the little bit of fire magic she knows to fuel the various light orbs hanging throughout the classroom.

She walks up to her old podium and watches as her students filter into their seats. No one says a word. No one knows what to expect, and Byleth feels a nagging feeling of falseness in the quiet of the dusty, broken knockoff of the original classroom setting.

They are engaged in a farce, a simulacrum of academic life; things could easily snap back into the reality of violent bloodshed at a moment's notice.

It is an unspoken fact every single one of them are clearly aware of, and it is only out of respect for their professor and the mystery of her sudden appearance that keeps everything from falling apart.

The students watch her intently. They are quiet, just as she'd taught them to be.

"Petra," she begins, and Petra sits up in attention. "Please check the supply closet for ink, pens, and paper."

"Yes, Professor," Petra answers and quickly does as requested.

"I'll help," Caspar volunteers, shooting out of his seat.

To Byleth's surprise, Petra manages to pull out an entire sheaf of paper. She hands it to Caspar.

"Ten sheets per student," Byleth tells him, and he complies.

"Leave extra sheets on the desks for those who aren't here," Byleth adds as an afterthought.

Petra is already handing out pens and ink pots. They finish their tasks quickly, and both students sit down.

The classroom's attention once again returns to Byleth who levels a measuring gaze at each of them.

She senses an overwhelming curiosity in the air. It sidles along with a glint of sadness, a longing for what once was.

The tragedies of war are kept at bay for now, but they cannot be held back forever. The sight of Petra holding her knife under Bernadetta's neck is an unwelcome sight that Byleth cannot shake.

"Ok," Byleth says with a tone of finality. "Hubert, Edelgard, Dorothea and Ferdinand are absent. We will begin class officially when they arrive. For now, I want you all to complete a short writing prompt."

"Question." Linhardt raises his hand.

"Yes, Linhardt?"

"What if Edelgard betrays you, betrays _us_, and comes back with more soldiers than we can manage?"

"She won't," Byleth replies.

"How do you know?" Linhardt asks.

"I know," Byleth asserts firmly, and the analytical part of her psyche calmly tells her that, taking the Divine Pulse into account, it doesn't matter whether or not she is wrong.

The answer is not entirely satisfactory, but Byleth's confidence quells all remaining questions on the issue.

"What are you fighting for? Why?" Byleth asks. "That is your prompt. Write down as much as you are able."

"Why were you away for five years, Professor?" Petra chimes in, and the students' attention is diverted from the writing prompt.

"I was asleep for five years," she answers.

Caspar raises his hand. "You're joking! We don't have time f-"

"I'm not joking," she interrupts loudly. "That is why I am asking you to write. Please, Caspar."

"Professor," Bernadetta says timidly. "I don't know how to tell you this, but a lot has happened in five years and, well, what I want to say is, things have changed. Why did you leave us for so long? What are we doing here?"

Byleth blinks. The students are waiting, and the pressure mounts.

"You've improved, Bernadetta. This is the first time I've heard you take the initiative to speak in class without being called on." Byleth remarks, and the young woman looks down, embarrassed. "You've all been through a lot while I was gone, haven't you?"

She holds each student's gaze as she speaks. Petra's posture is impeccable, and her eyes are sharp and resolute. Caspar looks away, his lips are pursed tight.

Bernadetta looks like she is about to cry.

Linhardt… stares right back at her with a familiar, analytic curiosity.

The explosive sound of hooves on stone echo into the classroom.

"They're here," Byleth hazards a guess.

The hooves stop outside the door which is immediately blasted open.

A tall, imposing figure with flowing orange hair bursts into the classroom. "Ferdinand von Aegir, reporting for class!"

Behind him, Dorothea dismounts, hops down, and joins him. "Professor! I can't believe it! Linhardt was right! I'm so happy to see you!"

She is interrupted by a dark, threatening voice. "Hurry up!"

A shadow looms into the room, and Caspar jumps to his feet.

"_You fucking_ _dog!_" He screams.

Hubert raises a hand in response, and it becomes a vortex of impenetrable black. "Say that again," the dark mage challenges with a leery smile.

"Sit down! All of you!"

Edelgard walks in with an aura of authority, and even Caspar's fighting spirit dwindles in the face of the Adrestian Emperor's command.

"You first, dog!" He growls at Hubert. "Sit down!"

Hubert lowers his hand, but he doesn't move.

"It is only by her Majesty's grace that you are still alive at this moment," Hubert says condescendingly. "Know your place, insect."

"Insect?!"

The two men glare at each other, neither willing to back down.

"Hubert," Edelgard says with a tone of warning. "Sit."

Hubert relents.

"As you wish, your Majesty," he says with a bow, before walking to the front and taking a seat.

Caspar carefully watches Hubert until the dark mage is seated.

"What a good dog. Does as he's told," he says provocatively before taking his own seat.

Hubert's eyes are dark and murderous. His fingers twine tightly together, but he stays controlled.

Ferdinand and Dorothea are already at their tables, and Edelgard is the last student standing. She strolls to the frontmost bench, the one directly in front of Byleth, and glares at Linhardt.

"That's my seat."

Linhardt gives her a languid look, rolls his eyes, stands, and shuffles to the back without arguing.

The Adrestian Emperor looks every bit the student she was five years ago as she sits with her back straight and her hands folded in front of her. She levels a gaze laden with heavy expectations directly at Byleth.

The facade of the game they are playing is so unimaginably surreal that Byleth feels momentarily unsure of herself.

"Black Eagles, up and ready, Professor." Edelgard says, prompting Byleth out of her revery.

"Right," Byleth nods. "Before I give you today's schedule, I think I should tell you what I am looking to achieve." She glances briefly at Bernadetta on the last note, and Bernadetta, contrary to the behavior that Byleth is expecting of her, meets the gaze with quiet courage.

"This war that you've all been fighting… I want to bring it to an end with minimum casualties."

Hubert scoffs loudly. "Don't we all?" He mutters sarcastically.

"So why haven't you?" Byleth asks, directing her attention at her former student.

"The complexity of this war is one even you, Professor, would have trouble untangling," Hubert shoots back. "Every one of us has undergone drastic change in lieu of this war, and while your abilities were beyond our reach in the past, I'd wager that we are, at present, far wiser and far more experienced than you are currently able to match."

"You will give me a report of the situation then," Byleth replies. "And we shall see whether or not I can devise a satisfactory solution to this problem for all of us."

Hubert's eyes are unmoving as he tracks Byleth's every move, every expression. "You are arrogant," he says.

"Only time will tell," Byleth says, ending the discussion effectively. "Tonight's session will be the longest we've ever had. The schedule-"

She walks up to the chalkboard and picks up one of the dusty pieces of chalk sitting on the ledge, and begins to write.

"First, writing prompt. What you are fighting for and why. Second, speech. You will each share what you've written for the writing prompt in a coherent, comprehensive manner. Third, autobiography. Each of you will write an autobiographical narrative of what you've been doing in the last five years. Fourth, situational report."

She smiles as several groans of exasperation emit from behind her back while she writes.

"You will compile a comprehensive report of the military situation as much as you are able. I know some of you are fighting on opposite ends of this war and that some of the information you possess might be disastrous in the wrong hands. That is why you will be writing everything down and giving it only to me."

Byleth suppresses the sudden urge to turn around and glance at Edelgard.

"You may work in groups for the sitrep. Fifth is discussion. You will each write down up to ten questions along with the person you want to direct that question to. I will then collect the questions and lead a discussion using what you write. I suggest you rank order your questions so that I know which ones are more important to you.

"The sixth and last part of the schedule: solutions. This will be the most important and most difficult part. If all goes well up to this point, then there's a good chance we can make this work. I'm counting on all of you."

Byleth drops the chalk to glance over her handiwork. The board reads, from top to bottom:

_1\. Writing Prompt - explain motives & choice of faction  
__2\. Share Prompt  
__3\. 5 year Autobiography  
__4\. Written SitRep - (working in groups optional)  
__5\. Question-prompt & Discussion  
__6\. End the war (discussion)_

The errant professor turns to see that her students have donned looks of steely determination, the look of soldiers about to engage in a long extended battle. They are, in a sense, and it is magnitudes better than fighting a real battle.

Byleth imagines her students share that thought. It is probably more than fair to assume that each of the young men and women sitting before her have had experiences that would make an all-night lecture session seem relatively tame in comparison.

Things are working. For now.

Byleth quietly watches her students as they scratch out their responses studiously.

After a moment, she decides to join them. Ignoring the eyes following her movements, she walks to the closet and procures supplies for herself. Then, walking back to the podium, she lays out a blank sheet, pours herself some ink, dips her pen, and begins to write.

* * *

**A/N: Imagine me sitting down and fully writing out every single writing prompt, autobiography and situational report. NOPE. Gonna have to think on this one for a bit. Reviews definitely help in the process and will be greatly appreciated. Please review!  
**


	16. (5) Hubert, Caspar, Bernadetta, Linhardt

Five years and she is still lost in her inability to see past this obstruction. He sneaks a glance at his liege from the corner of his eyes and sees that she is completely engaged in her writing. Her earlier words taunt him.

_She chose me_.

Hubert allows himself an audible sigh to express his discontent. Edelgard hears him. Ignores him. Continues writing with a focus that contrasts greatly with her distracted demeanor the entire week before.

He finally understands, and, for some reason, it annoys him almost as much as the sight of one of the Slithers' disgusting faces.

He resigns himself to his fate. He writes a single line. Then, sitting back on his bench, he waits.

* * *

"No questions or comments until the presenter has finished speaking," Byleth says. "Hubert. Since you finished first, why don't you start us off?"

"My pleasure." Hubert stands to his feet and cracks his best smile of condescension. He clears his throat theatrically. "Motive: to serve her Majesty. Choice of faction: the Adrestian Empire."

He lapses into silence, and Byleth gives him a quizzical look.

"Is that all?" she asks.

"Yes," Hubert says.

"Alright," Byleth replies. "Does anyone have questions or comments for Hubert?"

"Yes," Caspar says immediately. "Why did you kill Marianne? She wasn't fighting at all. Why did you kill her?"

"I did not personally do any such thing," Hubert answers calmly, and Caspar explodes.

"You lying-!"

"You will only ask questions pertaining to the contents of his speech," Byleth interrupts forcefully before Caspar could continue, and Caspar sits back down with a smoldering look. "That goes for all of you. There is a question-prompt discussion on the schedule for a reason. You will not deviate from my schedule. _Do you understand?_"

Only half the students answer, and Byleth crosses her arms sternly.

"I want to hear that from every single one of you," Byleth prods. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, Professor," the students say as one, and, for a moment, the Black Eagles are as they had been five years ago. The echo from the past is so palpable that even Hubert loses his observable flippancy.

"Good," Byleth says. "Now-"

"I miss being here," Dorothea cuts in. "I wish we could go back to being students again, to a time before we understood what pain really was."

"As do I, Dorothea," Edelgard responds, "But time turns back for no one."

Byleth quietly allows the exchange before interrupting. "Focus on the schedule," she implores. "Please."

The students become silent, and Byleth takes the chance to continue from where she left off.

"Hubert, why do you choose to serve Edelgard?"

Hubert is silent for several seconds, and just before Byleth could repeat her question, he answers. "I believe in her vision. I believe in _her_, and the path that she has carved for me has given more purpose to my life than anything else I can fathom. There is nothing I will not do for her. Is that satisfactory?"

"Yes," Byleth answers.

"Dog," Caspar comments just loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Caspar," Byleth warns. "I _will_ send you outside if I have to."

"I'll behave," Caspar says quickly. "I'm sorry, Professor."

"I know it's hard, sitting in the same room like this, but it's more productive than spending another year trying to kill each other on the battlefield. Try to keep it civil, please," Byleth says and relaxes as her students seem to comply. "If we have no more questions for Hubert-"

Byleth waits, but the students are silent.

"Sit down, Hubert. Caspar. Since you've been so eager to speak, I want you to go next."

Caspar stands up, slapping his paper down onto his desk without looking at it.

"I fight for justice," he says. "For those who suffer. I fight anyone who dares to challenge me. I know that I've turned against my own family, and I'm actually afraid of the day I have to fight my own father. But they are wrong. And Edelgard is wrong. I've followed your last command, Professor, and I've been fighting as hard as I can to stop the Imperial army. So I-" Caspar swallows visibly. "I don't understand why you're letting her-"

"Caspar," Byleth interrupts gently. "We will discuss that subject later. Stick to the prompt."

"Right," Caspar replies. "Well, I'm with the Church, and I'm with Faerghus because they're with the Church too. That's all I've got."

"Stay on your feet, Caspar," Byleth commands just as Caspar moves to sit down. He stands back to his feet. "Any questions or comments for Caspar?"

"I have a question," Edelgard says.

"Go ahead," Byleth confirms.

"What about my position is wrong to you?"

"What do you mean?" Caspar asks with exaggerated confusion. "I've watched entire villages burn. People starving, people dying. All kinds of evil over and over and over again."

"Caspar-" Edelgard started to say, but Caspar doesn't let her finish..

"I've watched young men and women, even children, forced to become bandits because they thought there to be no other way. I've had to kill them with my own hands. All because of this war. There was a boy-"

Caspar pauses heavily as he becomes emotional. His eyes flicker to the front where Byleth is standing. Byleth stares back and finds that she can't bring herself to stop him.

"There was a boy lying on the side of the road in Rowe. He was so skinny. There was a tiny body lying next to him. It was his sister. His dead sister who had maggots coming out of her face, who he had been carrying for Goddess knows how long. He begged us to save her, and I picked up his sister's rotten body and I lied to him. I promised to save her. He was so happy… he kept thanking me and I couldn't-"

Caspar becomes too upset to speak, and Edelgard looks like she wants to say something.

"The boy dies," Bernadetta says, picking up the story. "And Caspar carried that girl's body the whole time we were marching. We buried them next to each other."

"I'm sorry for what you went through," Edelgard says. "But-"

"But what?!" Caspar shouts.

"But when I win this war, I swear to do everything I can to make sure that the world I create will have no room for that kind of tragedy."

"You can make whatever promises you like," Caspar manages through clenched teeth. "I know exactly why you can cause all these horrible things to happen and not bat an eye_._ You live in a fantasy future world that only exists in your head. Well it's time to wake up, princess. This is the world you've created right here, right now. Look at it. Just look and tell me that it's not wrong. I dare you!"

"It hurts me too, to see everyone suffering." Edelgard replies earnestly. "If all of you would've just stopped fighting and surrendered to me, none of it would've happened!"

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" Caspar roars.

Ferdinand stands up. "I think what Edelgard means to say is-"

"Enough!" Byleth interrupts.

The students stop their bickering. They resume their seats as Byleth allows a moment of silence to give the tension time to dissipate a little.

"Any more questions or comments for Caspar?"

No one makes a move.

And then Edelgard raises her hand again.

"Yes, Edelgard?"

"I just want you to know, Caspar, that I understand your pain better than you might think. I had to make this happen. The old system was corrupt and getting worse every day. If you only knew what I've seen, what I've experienced, you would understand."

"Hmph." Caspar huffs in response, flaring a cynical smile. "I don't think I would. I don't think there's anything you can tell me that will change my mind."

"Any other questions or comments?" Byleth asks again, cutting the exchange short. "Yes Dorothea?"

"Caspar. For what it's worth," Dorothea begins. "I know where you're coming from. It's the reason Linhardt and I ran away. Everything was just... too horrible. I think-" Dorothea hesitates. "I think I wanted to die rather than live one more day drowning in all that tragedy. And Linhardt... Linhardt saved me, and we left you and Bernadetta to fight all alone. Even though it was hard. Even though it meant you had to betray your own families. I'm so sorry that I was so selfish. I wish that I could've helped you. I wish-"

"You have nothing to apologize for, Dorothea. Please stop," Caspar says, cutting Dorothea off. Dorothea strokes her lustrous hair nervously and becomes suddenly unable to look in Caspar's direction.

"If you say so," Dorothea says with her eyes downcast.

"Uhm," Bernadetta says shakily. "I never cared for my family anyway, so it wasn't that bad for me. I-if it makes you feel any better."

"Thank you, Bernadetta," Dorothea says.

Byleth takes the opportunity to rein in her class. "I'll take one more question for Caspar. Anyone?"

Seeing no hands, Byleth asks Caspar to sit down, and he does.

"Bernadetta," Byleth starts to say.

"Aah!" Bernadetta jumps in her seat. "Is it my turn?"

"Yes," Byleth nods sternly.

Bernadetta tucks some of her long, purple hair behind her ears, grabs her paper so tightly it crinkles, and shoots to her feet.

"My motive is to bring peace back to the Fodlan," she recites, reading directly from her page. "Uh. I meant Fodlan. Not 'the' Fodlan. Heh. Oops."

She glances quickly at Byleth who waves her on.

"W-well anyway. My motive is to bring peace back to Fodlan so that I can help people live their lives normally again. Once life is back to normal, I will finally be able to go back to doing what I like to do. Until then, I will fight because- because that's just what I have to do. Um, the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus is my choice of faction. It is aligned with the Central Church. I chose the Church because Garreg Mach was the first place I could really call home. I am fighting for my home and for the people who make it what it is. That's all I have written. I'm sorry. May I sit down? I.. don't really like everyone looking at me."

"No," Byleth denies the request.

"Oh," Bernadetta's lips tremble anxiously. "Ok."

"Questions or comments for Bernadetta? Ferdinand, go ahead."

Ferdinand stands, makes sure he is fully facing his nervous classmate, and begins to speak. "Bernadetta, I know your father isn't the greatest of men. In fact, I've worked with him. He can be cruel, self-serving, and rash. His vision starts and ends almost entirely in tyranny. But he isn't the Empire. There is me. There is Edelgard. Even Hubert. Are we not also people who made your home what it was back when we were students?"

"But..." Bernadetta looks down quietly. "The war," she almost whispers.

"I know, but even taking the war into account - I know you. As an ally, as an enemy, as a classmate who I've risked my life with countless times before, you belong with us. There is a home for you in Enbarr, away from the County of Varley. Edelgard is not your father. She wants what's best for you, just as she does for everyone in this room. She is a noble through and through. I would not be fighting with her otherwise."

"If she wants what's best for us," Linhardt raises his hands loudly, catching Ferdinand's attention. "Then what's with this five year war? Maybe she shouldn't have started it in the first place, and we would've all just lived our lives peacefully as vaunted graduates of Garreg Mach. As capable military commanders and leaders."

Edelgard becomes the focus of the room, and an answer is expected from her.

"We don't always get to have what we want," Edelgard replies wistfully.

"Then what is it that's worth sacrificing our lives and the lives of millions of people across Fodlan?" Linhardt pushes.

"The freedom of humanity," Edelgard answers. "The Church is a lie and as long as established institutions of religion exist, the minds of countless millions will continue to be enslaved. As long as Crests remain the criteria for higher success in our society, the commonfolk will continue to be unjustly restrained from achieving what they deserve on merit."

"The Crest system, yes. That is bad," Linhardt replies. "But I don't really see anything wrong with religion. What do you think, Professor?"

Byleth is caught off guard, and she collects her wits quickly. "It's not that simple," she answers. "But we'll discuss this topic later. Bernadetta, is there anything you want to say to Ferdinand?"

Bernadetta shakes her head. The paper on which her prompt was written is balled up in her hands, destroyed by sweat and mistreatment some time during the lengthy exchange.

"You may sit," Byleth says.

Bernadetta drops with visible relief. Noticing what she's done to her prompt, she unfurls it furtively onto her desk. She sees that Byleth is watching, and she freezes, a look of fear and shame creeping into her expression.

"I will only be collecting your autobiographies, your sitreps and the questions you will write for the discussion," Byleth says to the class. "I won't be taking this first prompt. Do with it what you wish."

Half the room makes a glance at Bernadetta who is completely mortified by the obvious accommodation spoken specifically for her.

"How nice," Hubert comments sarcastically.

"Linhardt," Byleth calls, "Let's hear from you."

Linhardt stands slowly to his feet. His paper looks almost exactly like Hubert's from a distance: a single line is scrawled at the top. He leaves the piece on his desk as he starts to speak. "I seek a peaceful life where I can take many naps and pursue whatever catches my interest. I am aligned with myself, Dorothea, and whoever she feels like helping. I guess you can call us the Arnault-Hevrings. Questions? Comments?"

"Arnault-Hevrings sounds kind of dumb," Dorothea mutters.

"What about A.H.?" Linhardt offers. "Or AH's? One syllable. Clean."

Dorothea shakes her head, but she does not hide her smile.

Caspar bursts into laughter. "AHs!" he guffaws loudly, repeating the name for all to hear. "Classic Linhardt!"

"AH's it is," Linhardt says. "I'm going to sit down now, since there are no questions-"

"I have a question," Edelgard says and then rolls headlong into speaking. "The Empire could use someone like you. Not on the front lines if you don't want to be there, but maybe behind the scenes doing research and development at your leisure on subjects that-"

"No thank you," Linhardt says, shutting down the offer. "It sounds attractive, but I'd rather not be on one side or another when the war eventually ends. Why risk fifty-fifty(1) when I could be on the outside and not risk anything at all?"

"Huh," Ferdinand emits with simultaneous understanding and wonder. "Does Dorothea think the same?"

"More or less," Linhardt says with a shrug.

"Not exactly," Dorothea says at the same time.

Ferdinand looks at her curiously.

"I just wanted to get away," Dorothea explains. "From the war. Caspar isn't the only one who's got a bad story."

"I understand. I have some too. I think we all do," Ferdinand says sadly. "Say no more if you do not wish to."

Dorothea nods.

"I vote we have Edelgard present next," Linhardt suggests. He pauses for last-second questions before sitting.

"Very well," Edelgard agrees and stands to her feet. She glances briefly at Byleth who gives her a silent go-ahead.

The Adrestian Emperor clears her throat and begins her speech.


	17. (5) Edelgard

"My aim has always been to better the future of humanity. I fight for the lives of all people, present and future. I'm sure you've all read the manifesto that I published five years ago, so I am not going to repeat it here. Instead, I want to expound on why I believe what I believe.

"There is a great secret spoken down the Hresvelg line from one successor of the throne to the next which originates from the first Adrestian Emperor, Wilhem Paul Hresvelg himself. That secret is the secret of the Church's origins: Saint Seiros founded the Church of Seiros in order to control the minds of the people, and Emperor Wilhelm helped her spread the faith, believing that it was for the good of Fodlan."

She casts a quick look around the classroom to gauge her peer's reactions before continuing.

"For over a thousand years, the Hresvelg line has kept Seiros' secret. One after another, my ancestors have served her every whim. We've given her everything she's asked. When she asked Emperor Ionius the Second to divide Fodlan into two, he complied. Thus, the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus was born. When she asked Emperor Ionius the Third to allow for a third split, he complied, giving birth to the Leicester Alliance. These divisions have been in constant conflict ever since."

"Wait, I'm confused," Dorothea raises her hand as she speaks. "You make it sound as if Saint Seiros were alive when those things happened."

"She was," Edelgard answers.

"Lady Rhea," Linhardt says out of nowhere, provoking looks of surprise from a few,

"Yes," Edelgard confirms. "Under different names and guises, Archbishop Rhea has been present throughout much of recorded history. She is the founder of the Church of Seiros."

"According to the books," Caspar chimes in. "Ionius the Second was advised by Archbishop Ahm to cede the north to Faerghus in order to end the war of the Eagle and Lion. Now that we know what war is really like, you can't say you couldn't have made the same choice."

"According to the books… you mean the books written by the Church?" Edelgard asks.

"Yeah," Caspar says; he frowns.

"If Loog had continued fighting to destroy the Church and unite Fodlan, our war would not have happened," Edelgard says with her fists clenched tightly. "But Loog did not have the strength nor the will to bring the war to its proper conclusion as he should have done. I do."

"I have a question for you, Edelgard," Byleth interrupts, drawing all the students' attention. "Two in fact."

"Yes?" Edelgard turns. Her attention centers on Byleth and she tenses visibly for a short second before relaxing.

"Let's say the Church is, in fact, a lie created in order to pacify the people. If it produces peace, if it creates a society in which all people, both believers and non-believers, are able to live fulfilled, happy lives, why not allow it to persist? Why destroy it?"

"Fulfilled? Happy?" Edelgard scoffs with a flare of anger. "Do you think I was fulfilled when they were digging their knives into my body? Do you think I was happy?!"

"Edelgard," Byleth says before Edelgard could misunderstand further. "It is a hypothetical. The premise is presumed to be true. Do not stray into anecdotal appeal, and answer the question."

Facing the front, Edelgard cracks an awfully cynical smile that only Byleth sees. The Emperor looks, for a moment, as if she is about to cry, but she quickly controls herself.

Byleth feels a spark of worry over her student's unusual emotional state, but she makes no sign of it.

"No," Edelgard answers eventually. "They would be living a lie. A happy lie, but a lie nonetheless."

"Why is that wrong?" Byleth presses.

"It's wrong because, well," Edelgard cuts her answer short. "Would you rather know the truth or would you rather live in blissful ignorance? Tell me honestly, Professor."

"Personally, I would prefer to know the truth," Byleth answers. "But would it be right for me to impose my preference onto someone else who would have otherwise lived a happy life?"

The question hangs in the air.

"I do not like this hypothetical, Professor." Edelgard replies. "It does not apply to the reality of the Church as it was. As it is. People were not happy, and the Church was directly responsible."

"What if the Church were to be reformed?" Byleth asks, choosing not to dispute the claim of responsibility made against the Church. "Given that it can be reformed in such a way as to bring about the hypothetical, would you still destroy it?"

Edelgard blinks. Her animosity vanishes as she reaches some sort of understanding. "I see. I understand what you are asking now. If the Church is as it was supposed to be - as my ancestor Wilhelm and many of his successors had believed it to be - then, in that case..."

The Emperor's words come to a stop as she lapses into thought.

The entire classroom is silent, waiting for an answer.

"Teacher," Edelgard starts to say after a long moment of silence. "I saw no route to reform. If I had known that you were-"

"Stop," Byleth interrupts her with a weighted look.

Edelgard does as she is told.

"As you wish, my teacher."

"If you were what?" Caspar suddenly asks in a demanding voice. "What was she about to say. Professor?"

"I will tell you by the time this lecture period finishes."

"No! Why does Edelgard know and we don't?" Caspar snarls. "Are you siding with Edelgard?"

"Yes," Byleth answers without hesitation to her students' collective shock.

"You are?! Huh. I should've known." Caspar jumps to his feet. "Bernadetta, we're leaving."

"What?" Bernadetta stands, but her voice is unsure. "Are you-?"

"Caspar-" Byleth starts to say, but her voice is drowned out and ignored

"Yes!" Caspar shouts to Bernadetta. "Now!"

"Caspar, wait." Linhardt interrupts.

"Linhardt," Caspar trembles visibly. "You can't possibly-! Are you choosing that side too?"

"You've known me since we were toddlers," Linhardt answers. "I've already made my position clear. Don't make silly accusations, Caspar."

"The Professor is an enemy!"

"You're being extremely irrational," Linhardt replies calmly. "In any case, if the Professor were evil or incompetent, I wouldn't be sitting here quietly, listening to the Adrestian Emperor talk while playing this game of student. Now if you would stop overreacting and interrupting the class, maybe we can finish early and get some sleep."

Caspar finds himself suddenly alone. He looks around wordlessly, aimlessly.

"Caspar," Byleth says gently, drawing his attention. "I'm on your side too."

"What do you mean?" Caspar asks, confused. "You can't be on both sides! We're literally fighting a war against each other!"

Byleth closes her eyes in a show of patience. "I want you to tell me that you will behave until the end of this lecture. Do you trust me, Caspar?"

"I-" Caspar looks away, unable to meet her eyes. "If you had asked me five years ago…"

"I haven't changed," Byleth says. "Will you behave?"

Caspar's fists clench and unclench. He glances briefly at Bernadetta who is already seated before he finally gives in. He sits down, visibly ashamed, and says nothing more.

Caspar's question lingers heavily in the aftermath of his outburst.

"I would also like to know this secret of yours that apparently only her Majesty is aware of," Hubert volunteers.

The students' eyes demand an answer, and Byleth feels the weight of her lie. Despite its apparent necessity, her hypocrisy on the subject of truth is provoking an unexpectedly strong feeling of guilt inside her.

"I will reveal my hand after I've gathered enough information," she says. "Edelgard, please continue."

"My teacher," Edelgard says. "I think it's best if you tell them."

The guilt. It is useless. It is necessary. "Alright... I am the Goddess Sothis," Byleth lies. "I was to gain control of the Church, but the war was instigated and I was defeated by… I don't know exactly who they are. Those responsible for turning humans into Crest-stone monsters. Does the Empire still employ their methods?"

Byleth glances from Hubert to Edelgard. It is Ferdinand who answers the question, to Byleth's mild surprise.

"We are still allies," Ferdinand says, standing to his feet. "But we don't allow Crest-beasts or Crest experiments anymore. They're inhumane, they make us inhumane, and that puts us in the wrong. General Ro would have fought us to the bitter end instead of surrendering if he had seen Crest Beasts on the battlefield. We would have lost the support of at least two Alliance lords if they knew we were still engaged in those fell experiments, and these are just the cases that we know of. That is why the prohibitions are in place. We would have tainted our noble cause with the most ignoble of deeds otherwise."

"Thank you for your detailed response, Ferdinand," Edelgard replies dryly.

"You can always count on me, Edelgard," Ferdinand bows and then sits.

"_Your Majesty_" Hubert hisses to Ferdinand, correcting his form of address.

"We're in class," Ferdinand says in reply.

Hubert wisely refrains himself from what would've been a pointless argument and looks away dissatisfied.

"Are you really the Goddess?" Dorothea asks.

"Yes," Byleth answers.

"Linhardt! You're a genius! How did you know?!"

"It was only a theory," says Linhardt.

"Still!" Dorothea exclaims. "Who else would have guessed?!"

"Lady Rhea knew," Linhardt replies. "I'm sure Seteth does as well. By the way, Edelgard, whatever happened to Lady Rhea?"

Edelgard's response to the unexpected question is guarded. "Do you expect me to know?"

"I don't," says Linhardt. "But I've been meaning to ask. Do you?"

Edelgard falls into temporary silence. She sneaks a glance at Byleth who catches it. "I do," she says.

"Whatever happened to her must have been unspeakable if you haven't announced it to the world," Linhardt guesses. "She's not being... experimented on, is she?"

"I can't say," Edelgard manages.

"Why?" Linhardt quips.

"The question is irrelevant to the prompt," says Edelgard curtly. She glances down at the full page that she'd written as if deciding whether or not to continue her speech. "The Adrestian Empire is my choice of faction. I don't believe I have anything else to say."

Byleth examines the young woman carefully. The subject of Rhea's circumstances is one she really wants to hear about, but it is one she knows she doesn't need to push at the moment.

"Very good," says Byleth. "Any last questions or comments?"

"I have a comment, Professor," Ferdinand says, raising his hand. Receiving a nod, he stands to deliver his comment. "Whatever path you choose moving forward from today, Edelgard, I hope you don't forget that you have trusted advisors you can consult with."

"Noted," Edelgard replies, and Ferdinand resumes his seat.

"Anyone else?" Byleth asks. "Yes, Dorothea?"

"This might be a sensitive subject, but you said something about the Church 'digging their knives' into your body," says Dorothea. "What do you mean by that?"

"You have it wrong," Edelgard answers. "It wasn't the Church that did it to me, though it might as well have been."

"So…" Dorothea ponders in confusion. "If the Church isn't at fault-"

"It's the system of Crests that the Church has propagated since its inception that led to… to what happened to me and my family. It's why I'm the last surviving Hresvelg."

"What did happen to you exactly?" Dorothea asks with a mix of curiosity and concern.

"It's… I am not obligated to discuss it with you," says Edelgard.

"Well clearly you've told the Professor," Dorothea presses. "It's obviously a big factor in why you started this war and who you are today. You have to tell us."

"Professor, I don't think-" Edelgard turns back to look toward Byleth for help, but Byleth doesn't help. She does the opposite.

"Tell them," says Byleth. "They should know."

Byleth watches her student's eyes glaze over, watches her expression tense into a vulnerable panic. Edelgard regains control of her present state and turns back to face her classmates.

She hesitates, looking from one classmate to another as she thinks on what she is about to do.

"I was locked in a cell for three years," she says finally. "And I was tortured every day."

She removes a gauntlet, dropping it unceremoniously onto the floor with a heavy clunk. Her bare hand is covered in countless silvery slivers - scars on top of scars on top of scars. The scars disappear into her wrist and not a single spot is unblemished.

"How many thousands of cuts were made on my hands alone, I cannot say," she says, a strange anger filtering into her words. "Only the skin on my head, my neck and my face, was left untouched. Are you satisfied?"

The most remarkable sight that Byleth sees that night is the sight of tears in Hubert's eyes. Hubert, of all people.

"I-I had no idea…" Dorothea says with horror.

"I don't want your pity!" Edelgard all but snarls. It's too late.

Byleth looks away from Hubert to see that Ferdinand and Petra are reacting the same way as the rest of the students. Of the students, only Hubert had known.

It is a secret Byleth remembers Edelgard revealing to her long before the war was even instigated. _Has she always-?_

"Professor," Edelgard says tonelessly, interrupting Byleth's thoughts. "I don't see what purpose this serves, but I am done taking questions."

The Adrestian Emperor takes her seat slowly and buries her face in her hands, only one of which is covered.

There is nothing she can say, Byleth knows, that would help except to move forward with the lesson. She is reminded, for a moment, of something Edelgard had said to her after Jeralt's death.

_Only you can truly understand your own sadness. Others can sympathize or even empathize, but all anyone else can offer are the tears of an outsider looking in. So I have no intention of crying for you, or of standing still with you. All I can do is promise to reach out my hand when the time comes for me to move forward._

"Three more before we move on to the autobiography," Byleth announces, pointing to her chalkboard. "Petra. You haven't spoken a single word since we've started. You're next."


	18. (5) Petra, Ferdinand, Dorothea

"_I don't want to die, but at least... at least I saved her. That's worth something, right?"_

"_You're not going to die, kid, and neither will your sister. The both of you are going to be fine so just hang in there. Wait 'til we get back to camp. We've a healer there named Marianne. Greatest and most beautiful healer in all of Fodlan! You'll love her. Don't you _dare _give up until then okay?"_

* * *

Petra's speech is straightforward. She fights for Brigid. She fights for the Adrestian Empire.

"Does this mean you'd side with Faerghus if it were more advantageous for Brigid?" Linhardt asks without preamble.

Byleth watches as Petra's eyes flit briefly toward the front where Edelgard is sitting. The curious, self-assured student she had been is gone, replaced by a warrior who is tactful, guarded and secretive.

"No," Petra answers.

"Why not?" Linhardt asks.

"Brigid and Adrestia are the same," Petra answers. "They will not be betrayed from me."

"But we're not the same," Edelgard says quietly, her voice slightly hoarse.

"What?" Petra does not hold back her surprise.

"We are not the same," Edelgard repeats. "Is Brigid truly your only motive for fighting by my side?"

"No!" Petra exclaims. "It cannot be."

"Then, if you don't mind, could you please help me explain to the class why you believe it was necessary for this war to happen? Please, Petra."

Petra glances at Byleth as if to ask for help, but Byleth simply put on her usual, masked expression and levels an expectant gaze back at her.

"I fight in the same reason as you, Edelgard." Petra answers.

"And what reasons are those, exactly?" Edelgard pushes.

"Why are you cross-examining Petra?" Caspar interrupts. "She's fought with you for five years_._ She's literally killed so many people for you!'

"Shut your mouth, Caspar!" Edelgard shouts to everyone's surprise. "You don't understand anything and you never will! Isn't that what you said?!"

Instead of shouting back as might have been expected of him, Caspar responds calmly in the face of Edelgard's provocation. "I understand that you are probably the most broken person in this room."

Edelgard's expression freezes into a somehow terrifying mask of hatred, and her words become like ice. "This has nothing to do with me. Either my stance is correct or it's not, and if you knew how to think, you'd know that it's the rationally strongest position. This is my last warning to all of you, even you Professor. I don't need your pity. I don't want it, and you will not say another word about what I've revealed to you tonight to _anyone_. Is that clear?"

Petra is the first to speak in lieu of Edelgard's fury. "Edelgard," she says very slowly. "I fight by your side because I believe you. I believe your cause. You have my allegiance from the beginning because I know what we fight for is the right one."

Edelgard scrutinizes her ally carefully, and, after a long moment, finally relents. "I see," she replies, all traces of her previous resentment vanishing in an instant. "I am sorry for my outburst. I hope you can forgive me."

"Do you really believe that, Petra?" Linhardt asks. "Even with all the counts of death, suffering and starvation?"

"Yes, I think it is for the better of Fodlan," Petra replies seriously. "But sometimes I lose my care. And people look like animals and I just kill them and have no feeling after. I… I am not wanting to feel nothing."

"Me neither," Bernadetta whispers, echoing the thoughts of a number of the other students, and Petra gives her an understanding nod.

"I must also admit," Petra continues. "if I must choose in between Brigid and Fodlan, I will be choosing Brigid. I am sorry Edelgard."

"Don't be," Edelgard says. "What you would do in extreme cases does not define you. Until such cases occur, I have every reason to consider you a close friend and ally."

"Last questions or comments to Petra with regard to her speech?" Byleth cuts in. "Yes, Hubert?"

Hubert stands and turns to Petra. "I'm sure you understand that this agreement is mutual? If there ever comes a day where you present a legitimate threat to her Majesty and to the Empire, we will stop at nothing to eliminate you."

"Yes," Petra replies. "I am knowing."

"That is all I have to say then." remarks Hubert as he returns to his seat.

"Ferdinand," Byleth calls. "You had your hand raised. What did you want to say to Petra?"

Ferdinand shakes his head. "Hubert's already spoken the gist of it."

Byleth nods. "It seems there are no more questions. Petra, sit. Ferdinand von Aegir, you are the last. If you'd please-"

"The pleasure is all mine!" Ferdinand announces. He stands, adopting an almost theatrically measured pose. He clears his throat just as theatrically and begins his speech. "My motive is to demonstrate what true nobility means and to inspire such in the hearts of nobles and common folk alike. To that end, I live my life with character and discipline. A noble must lead by example! A noble must also know his purpose! My purpose is to help Edelgard lead Fodlan, to fight by her side when necessary and to help guide her noble path so that it may remain noble! I serve as a proud asset to the Adrestian Empire and as part of Edelgard's most trusted counsel."

Ferdinand bows dramatically. "Thus ends my speech, Professor," he declares.

"Thank you Ferdinand," Byleth says. "The floor is open for feedback."

"I guess some people never change," Dorothea comments. "Must be nice."

"Contrary to what you might be thinking, Dorothea, I am not unaffected by the trials and tribulation brought about by the war," says Ferdinand.

"Is that so?" Dorothea scoffs. "You're still such a bee, Ferdinand."

"Uh..." Ferdinand's eyebrows knit together. "Thank you? I think?"

"You _still _haven't figured it out. Wow!" Dorothea muses in an incredibly condescending tone, and Byleth decides to cut the exchange short.

"Any other comments or questions? Linhardt. I don't think you were such an active student five years ago."

"Class wasn't so interesting five years ago," Linhardt replies. "Anyway, what I want to say to Ferdinand, with respect to nobility, of course, is: thank you for the part you played in dampening the effects of this war."

"The part I played?" Ferdinand asks. "How would you even know?"

"Oh I know," Linhardt smiles. "I've spoken to General Ro."

"Ah!" Ferdinand exclaims. "General Ro! I see! But when?!"

"Before you had him publicly executed."

"There's no way you could have... unless-"

"Aaah. Now you're thinking!" Linhardt says almost ecstatically.

Ferdinand sighs, closing his eyes as if to imagine the scene. "It had to be done."

"'Had to' is relative," Linhardt comments. "You must really believe in Edelgard's cause."

"Not as much as she does," Ferdinand answers. "But yes. Sometimes our fate is not to decide the flow of history, but to choose how to navigate its tides so that we may come out on the other side wiser and better equipped to face the next one. Isn't that right, Professor?"

"My words," Byleth says. "I'm surprised you remember."

"You _do_ say memorable things, Professor," Ferdinand replies back. He clears his throat. "'_Do not fight for the Church! Do not fight for yourself! Fight for your brothers and sisters in arms, for your dearest friends who fight beside you. Fight so that they might live to see another day!'_"

"That's enough Ferdinand," Byleth chides, but her words belie the happy feeling of pride flooding her senses. "Shall we move on?"

The classroom lapses into silence as Ferdinand takes his seat. Byleth points to Dorothea, the last presenter. The young woman immediately stands to her feet. "You're so cute when you smile, professor," Dorothea's voice quips and then proceeds to deliver her speech. "I fight to give myself and Linhardt a chance to live our lives. I fight for our survival and our future together. I know some might consider that selfish, but what do you expect us to do? We're not heroes. We are simple people wishing to live out a simple life as best we can. Is that so much to ask for? Is that wrong for us to not choose a side?"

Dorothea glances around, and Byleth senses strongly the woman's hidden guilt and her desire to find its resolution.

"If you had to choose a side to fight for between the Empire and Faerghus, which would it be?"

Dorothea turns to her questioner. Edelgard regards her classmate firmly as she waits for her answer.

"Don't ask this of me," she whispers.

Edelgard's gaze remains fixed and calculative, and Dorothea is suddenly unable to meet her class leader's eyes.

"I see," Edelgard says after a long moment of silence. "The Empire has no quarrel with your neutrality, Dorothea Arnault. I guarantee you immunity from Imperial hostility as long as you do not explicitly stand against my mission. You have my word."

With that, the stalwart Emperor takes her seat.

"Questions for Dorothea?" Byleth asks. The students are still and unresponsive.

"Alright. Dorothea, you may be seated. Thank you all for sharing." Byleth turns. "You should each have at least five sheets of paper for this next portion," she explains while pointing at her chalkboard. "In fact, we're going to do the next two items in one sitting. You may start your SitReps immediately after you finish your individual autobiographies. Write as much as you're willing to share with me."

Byleth moves her hand down to the next section.

"For the SitRep, make sure it contains as much relevant detail as possible. Good strategy requires good information, and the more you can give me, the better. The Empire. The Church. Faerghus. The Leicester Alliance. Brigid. Even Almyra. Tell me everything. Understood?"

"Yes, Professor," the class responds unanimously.

"Good," Byleth says. "I'll need time to read and process everything you will be writing, so after this, I'm giving you all a break."

"What will you be doing in the meantime, my teacher?" Edelgard asks.

Byleth pauses for a moment to think. "Can you keep your class in order?" she asks.

"Of course," Edelgard replies.

"Then, if there are no problems, I'm going outside for a walk."


	19. (6) Trystan

The ghosts of her former life spring at her from unexpected corners. She remembers patrolling the night, remembers the many cats that used to wait on the walls and the grounds outside the dining hall, mingling-strangely-with stray dogs in trysts of unlikely friendship.

The roads outside the abandoned monastery are now empty. The animals appear to have vanished along with their human counterparts five years ago. It doesn't stop her from looking for them. It doesn't stop her from feeling that something is amiss.

What ultimately surprises her isn't the absence of what once was, but the presence of what should not be. The sound of marching greaves, of metal against stone, signifies a patrol moving through the monastery grounds. She is disoriented for a fraction of a second before she realizes what it is she is hearing. Not Knights of Seiros from an age that is now gone.

Imperial soldiers.

A patrol perimeter is put up around the classroom in which the Emperor sits. Of course.

She is about to slip away when a voice challenges her.

"Stop! Who goes there?!" It cries.

She sees her challenger clearly. A man whose beard makes it difficult to ascertain his age. He bears a torch. Behind him, a gaggle of soldiers are lined and ready to subdue the potential threat that she represents.

"Step into the light!" The man shouts, and she walks forward with her hands up in the universal gesture of peace. She is relieved that her student's subordinates are at least following good protocol. They could've just shot at her, which would have made the encounter messy.

The hostile air dissipates as the soldiers seem to recognize her.

"That's Byleth Eisner!" One of them exclaims.

"That's right," Byleth confirms. "Who am I speaking to? How do you know me?"

The soldiers look at each other for a moment before the original challenger, the torchbearer, steps forward. "I am Trystan, lead lancer of the Empire's eighty-fourth squad," Trystan answers with a small bow. "The Emperor issued a search for you after the attack on the monastery five years ago. Everyone knows what you're supposed to look like, and, well, it's incredible to finally see you in person."

The soldiers make noises of agreement.

"She's beautiful," someone quips.

"I see," Byleth nods at Trystan, ignoring the out-of-line comments. "Well Trystan, if you and your squad weren't so busy being distracted by my presence, you'd see that you lack proper dispersion. Who is watching your rear?"

The soldiers immediately take up their positions.

"Relax, I am not your commander." Byleth says to Trystan's apparent shame. "You are safe while I'm here."

The man does as he's told and relaxes a little, but his squad is no longer standing around looking loose and vulnerable. "I heard General von Aegir say the same to the Minister earlier. That they'd be safe with you around."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. When we were told that you'd been found, we knew we had to see for ourselves. We spent so long searching, you see. We've heard so many stories about you. The Emperor must be over the moon about it."

The man is suddenly at a loss for words, and he lapses into silence.

"Stories about me?" Byleth prods.

"Yes ma'am." Trystan answers and then makes a choice not to elaborate. "I'm sorry for taking up more of your time ma'am, but I have a question that I'm sure we'd all like to have answered."

"Ask," Byleth commands.

"Are you fighting with us or are you fighting against us?"

It is exactly the type of question a soldier might be expected to ask in the middle of a continental war. It's a completely ridiculous question. If she were an ally, then the question is moot. If she were an enemy, then there are only two options. Either she lies, which is something a normal enemy might be expected to do, or two, she tells the truth and slaughters the soldiers before her. The thought flits through her mind in a fraction of a second, but she answers the question anyway.

"I am with Edelgard," Byleth says unblinkingly.

Trystan is visibly relieved, as are the soldiers behind him. The ones whose faces she could see in the light anyway.

"They say you're a military genius. I hear many of the strategies we use in battle are adopted from your teachings." Trystan says with unrestrained admiration. "With you, we can finally turn this war on its head!"

Byleth feels an internal discomfort at the expectation being levied at her, but externally, she doesn't make any reaction, giving no quarter. "We shall see," she says flatly. "Please excuse me. I would like to have some time to think. Notify the other squads of the situation and that I am to be left alone."

Trystan stands happily to attention. "Yes ma'am!"

Byleth forces herself to smile. "Keep up the good work, Trystan," she says before turning away. She marches toward the fishing pond, ignoring the dwindling noise of the Imperial soldiers' conversation erupting from behind her.

Being with Edelgard is not the same as being with the Empire, but if the Empire's soldiers choose to interpret her words as such, she sees no reason to stop them. For now.

* * *

She's always been careful with her words, picking through them to make sure they are internally consistent. Playing a false subservient role to the Church for two entire years had given her a lot of practice in paying minute attention to the words that come out of her mouth.

As she writes to her teacher, to Byleth, she thinks over the words she has said so far. How much has she revealed? Does her teacher know? She must. Does her teacher think the same?

Edelgard feels herself becoming flustered at the thought.

How dare she wish for something so selfish and self-indulging? An accompanying feeling of shame gnaws at her. She is too much a coward to say or even think it outright which is entirely comical given that she has no qualms risking her life in battle or in giving up her honor - her morality - for the sake of accomplishing her goal. Yet this. This holds her. It is beyond laughable.

If she had known for certain that Byleth was to succeed the Church, it was possible she might have delayed the war in favor of an attempt at reform. The question then becomes, what kind of reform would Byleth be willing to push? Regardless of what her teacher might have been willing to uphold, there is only one direction that is acceptable to her: the complete dissipation of the Church and its dogma.

With the slow destruction of the Church from the top down, the face of the war would have been drastically different. Obviously there would still have been some type of armed conflict. There would have been zealots who would doubt her teacher's claims, doubt the Central Church's new command, and fight to their dying breath to preserve the traditions by which they had been indoctrinated for countless generations.

Even if her teacher were to enact reform slowly, benevolently, there would have been dissent.

Her thoughts give her no comfort. If only she had known, if she had just trusted her teacher, the war wouldn't have become such a monster. Even if there would have been some kind of a war, it wouldn't have been the same in scale. Not even close. What's more, it would be Byleth who would have spearheaded the movement. Byleth, the only one she can trust to bear the awful burden of such a monumental task. The Goddess herself would have literally been on her side, would have literally helped her. Her long days and nights of prayer in that dungeon, that hell, would have been answered if she hadn't so cynically taken her knife and cut through the ribbons of her own salvation.

If only she had known.

If only she had trusted the professor, her teacher. If only she had trusted the Goddess who she'd thought had forsaken her, who she'd cursed, whose existence she'd ultimately rejected during her years in the darkness. Her Goddess who she now loves.

The thought makes her smile. "What irony," she mouths to herself. Hubert somehow hears her and glances to his side to stare at her for a couple seconds. He decides to not comment and directs his attention back to his assignment.

She will not cry. Not now. Tears of regret and self-pity are worthless. The past is strictly a place to learn from. The Edelgard that mourns, that is pitiable and useless must be locked away into the dungeon from where she came. The future is forward. Not back.

Edelgard swipes angrily at the tears building behind her eyes before they can betray her, before that pathetic version of herself could overtake her again.

Hubert wisely does not comment.

* * *

"How many of you are not finished with your assignments?" Edelgard asks in place of the still-missing professor.

She receives silence in response. The tension in lieu of the professor's absence is palpable which is perfectly understandable. Sitting right before her, surrounded by an army of over two hundred imperial units, are two generals of Faerghus: extremely high-value targets. The longer the professor is absent, the more likely it is that they are in danger. It is harsh, but if the professor was to vanish again, Edelgard wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of the opportunity at hand.

Such is the nature of war; when Edelgard vowed to herself to do anything to change the world and accomplish her mission, she'd meant it.

Reality is harsh, and everyone here should understand, given the last half decade. No point beating around the bush.

"I know what troubles you, Caspar. Bernadetta."

Bernadetta appears suddenly frightened and too scared to speak.

"Do you?" Caspar challenges.

Edelgard stares Caspar down, taking his challenge head on. "If the professor disappears again-"

"Of course," Caspar growls with barely concealed anger. "No matter what Ferdinand might say for you, you really are a heartless woman."

Caspar's words sting, and nothing she can say would mean anything to either of them. Only empty platitudes. "I'm sorry," Edelgard says firmly, looking from one adversary to the other. "But this is war."

"That's true," Caspar replies. "Worse comes to worse, we fight to our deaths. Are you with us, Linhardt? Dorothea?"

Linhardt pretends to be asleep, and offers no answer.

Dorothea looks away. "We don't fight anymore," she replies.

Disappointed, Caspar goes back to glaring at Edelgard. "We really should kill you right here, right now, professor or not."

"You can try," Hubert threatens, standing to position himself in front of Edelgard. The magic in his hands flare dark against the lamplight. "I promise you won't get very far."

Petra has her knives in her hands. Bernadetta puts a hand to her bow, unwilling but ready.

"Wait, hold on-" Ferdinand starts to say before he is interrupted by the creaking noise of the classroom doors.

The professor walks in at the perfect moment.

"Weapons away!" she commands. "Back to your seats!"

The students do as they are told, and the tension is momentarily held at bay.

She walks up to the podium at the front of the classroom, settling back to her familiar position. "I'm not going to disappear anytime soon, got it? I will solve this problem, but I can't do it if you don't cooperate with me."

"My apologies, professor," Edelgard says. "I wasn't able to manage the class as well as I should have."

Byleth gives her student a nod before giving her attention to the rest of the class. "Leave your papers at your desks. I will collect them myself. You have three hours to break while I read and think. Get some sleep, food. Consort with your armies. Whatever it is you need to do. I want you all back in the classroom before sunrise. Understand?"

"Yes Professor," her students chorus.

The sound of tables legs and chairs scrape the stone floor of the classroom.

"Please don't kill each other," Byleth adds as the students start to leave.

"We will keep order," Edelgard replies, giving her a grave nod.

"Sure you will," Caspar says with his head tilted up cynically. "If anyone's going to be the first to stab someone in the back, you can count on Edelgard to be the one to do it."

"I think we've all had a rough night, especially the professor. Let's not make it any harder for her, alright?" Dorothea says before anyone could respond to Caspar's provocation.

Caspar scoffs. He slams open the door and is gone before anything else can be said. Bernadetta follows suit. "We'll be back," she promises.

"Let's go," Edelgard announces in their wake, addressing her subordinates. "Our soldiers are waiting."

The Empire's leaders leave together without further trouble.

"Thank you," Byleth says to Dorothea in the aftermath.

Dorothea winks at her knowingly. "It's the least I could do. I'll see you in three hours, professor," she says before walking out into the night.

The class is soon emptied except for Linhardt who asks if he can be allowed to stay in.

"Don't interrupt me," is the assent that Byleth gives, and Linhardt, satisfied, props his arms and his head onto the desk and falls asleep instantly.


	20. (6) Rewind

"_Caspar, stop!"_

"_Step aside, Dorothea!"_

"_The professor-"_

"_She won't bring back all the people we've lost, all the villages destroyed. All the children starved and all the lives ruined. She can't change what Edelgard's done!"_

"_Wait, just-"_

"_..."_

"_Caspar what have you done?!"_

"_Dorothea? Huh? What- I didn't mean… Hubert was going to-! I was just-!"_

"_I did no such thing, insect. You acted of your own volition."_

"_HUUBERT!"_

* * *

Carnage.

Heads hanging at odd angles, severed limbs and broken bodies, all sitting atop spreading pools of blood. Judging by the size of the pools, only ten minutes had passed at most.

"What happened?" she asks as calmly as she can.

Edelgard attempts to explain, but she is so mortified the words refuse to come. She kneels silently over her aide's body and is at a loss for words.

"I can explain, professor," says Petra. She is the only other person still alive in the classroom.

"Please do," Byleth prompts.

"We have- had. We had an argument. Caspar was wanting for revenge. I can guess for Marianne but also for others. I think… Hubert was not wanting to believe in you, and Caspar was not either. We began to be fighting after… I-if only you had been coming back to us sooner. Maybe this would not happened. Maybe we could still have life with no war. I hoped..."

Petra looks up at the bodies and her voice stops. There are tears pouring from her eyes, and she begins to cry violently.

"I failed you," Edelgard chips in, her voice flat. "Will you still fight with me, my teacher? My Goddess?"

"Goddess," Byleth replies calmly. "I am no goddess. That was a lie."

"...What. _What?!_" Edelgard's eyes become threatening. Her hand falls to her weapon.

"I'm the one who failed you. Will _you_ still fight with _me_, my student?"

"You lied to me?!"

Byleth surveys the bodies. Ferdinand. Dorothea. Linhardt. Hubert. Caspar. Bernadetta is nowhere to be found.

"We must move forward."

"You lied to me_,_" Edelgard says, her voice full of betrayed accusation. To no surprise, Byleth is completely unfazed by Edelgard's hostility. "You don't even care do you? You just want to use me. To manipulate me," she cries. "What am I to you?"

"You lied to me too," Byleth accuses back softly, dodging the last question with the same breath.

The two stare at each other for a moment, each expecting the other to either respond or continue the line of dialogue.

"I had to!" Edelgard shouts.

"Did you?"

Edelgard's hand trembles. It is the same hand Byleth had reached for only hours before. "What am I to you?" she repeats. Byleth stalls. There is an answer that Edelgard is desperately looking for, an answer that Byleth knows she cannot give in good conscience. Like the inevitable rise and fall of an executioner's blade, she delivers the same response that she has always given.

"You are my student," Byleth declares. "As long as you call me teacher."

Edelgard is stunned, but it takes her only a moment to regain her composure. "Then I will no longer call you teacher! Byleth, I-"

Before Edelgard can finish her sentence, the world shatters. Shards of reality break with an ear-splitting crack.

Byleth stares blankly at the frozen mien of her emotionally distraught student. There is a strangely pleading quality to it that she can't quite place. In any case, the situation is lost, and there is nothing else to do but to try again, to turn it all back.

How far can she go? An hour? Six years?

_**You cannot fix everything, nor should you seek to do so.**_

_Trying is all I have left. If I don't have even that, then I might as well-_

The world comes back together, piece by piece, and reality crystallizes.

Byleth suddenly feels very tired as the same scene begins to play itself out once more.

"Stop! Who goes there?!" Shouts Trystan, lead lancer of the eighty-fourth Imperial.

The moon is non-existent, and it is so dark, Byleth is surprised that Trystan had even noticed her. He must have been watching the door, must have already known that she was there. For a moment, Byleth feels a strong sense of empathy toward the Edelgard she'd abandoned in that doomed future. In a world of liars and hypocrites, how does one even _dare_ trust another?

Yet, how can there be life without trust? Without faith?

"Weapons down!" Trystan presses, interrupting Byleth from her thoughts. Byleth steps up to the pretenders.

"Lancer Trystan. Fix your formation. I will be making a note of the eighty-fourth to your commanders. We are in a time of war, and I'm sure you know who I am. Do not play games with me."

Trystan whirls around in shock and sees his unit's hasty re-arrangement from its previous disarray. He doesn't become angry like a bad leader often does. Instead, he turns back to face Byleth whose arms are crossed sternly. "As commander of the Emperor's personal guard, I take full responsibility for this failure."

"Good," Byleth replies. She offers him a smile. "I look forward to working with you."

"Ah," Trystan bows, his voice becoming jubilant. "The pleasure will be ours!"

"Your leadership is commendable, Trystan," Byleth comments agreeably. "I can see why Edelgard has you in her vicinity. Keep up the good work."

The ageless soldier stands to attention.

"Yes, ma'am!"


	21. (7) Demon

Bernadetta wanted nothing more than peace. Despite her near unparalleled aptitude in the arts of war, she would be willing to trade all her abilities - even the enormous amount of respect and influence she gained from it - to be able to barricade herself in her room and never have to show her face to another human being again, but it was something she could not do with a clean conscience knowing that the rest of the world was burning down outside those walls.

Bernadetta loved people. She just hated to interact with them.

There were so many ways a person could judge her, so many ways for a person's impression of her to go wrong. She couldn't bear being disliked, and she was aware of how silly she was in allowing that fear to dictate so much of her behavior. It was during her tutelage under Professor Eisner when she discovered the fact that her fear of social disapproval actually outweighed her fear of death. It was insanity no matter how she looked at it.

Even knowing her fear to be crazy did not change the fact that she still felt it constantly. Years and years of repeated exposure had cemented it into her psyche. It was a fear she'd known for as long as she could remember. Her father used to host many dinners with various lords and officials across the land, and one of her earliest memories was of being a toddler and being excited to see what all the fuss was about. Two year old Bernadetta had barged into a banquet room full of guests, screaming with delight at all the colorful dresses and decoration. The guests had adored her, egging her on. One even gave her a glass of wine as a joke. She'd downed the whole glass in two gulps before waddling off and crashing into a waitress. She remembered glass shattering everywhere, remembered her father's voice thundering into her ears. Suddenly all the colors had vanished.

The look in her father's eyes as he quietly commanded one of the servants to take her back to her room was one she would never forget. That night, he had gone to her with a leather belt in hand. She wouldn't forget that either. Somewhere between the ages of two and twelve, her fear had grown to become a monster. It became a reflexive mechanism to keep her safe from pain. She learned to be wary of others and their potential for negative judgment, and it became impossible for her to interact with anyone without feeling anxiety. Just being around people exhausted her endlessly.

Her time at the academy and the years she'd spent fighting Edelgard's war had dampened her fear greatly. Still, she couldn't help but feel an instinctive spike of apprehension as she pictured Edelgard's antipathy over what she was doing.

The missive she'd written was simple:

_Edelgard has secured the central Monastery with her commanders and two thousand men. Caspar and I are trapped. Requesting reinforcements._

_Bernadetta_

Sitting beside her in her room, Linhardt stared at the message for a long moment before finally deciding to do as she'd asked. He cast a quick, muttered spell, and the message was enveloped in a burst of magic before it vanished. A warp spell.

"The forest where we fought Kronya and Solon, yes?" Linhardt asked, just to make sure.

"Where the Professor became the Goddess, yes." Bernadetta confirmed.

"This could either go really well or really badly," Linhardt commented blithely. "In any case, we probably aren't going to get another chance."

Bernadetta nodded, but she continued to stare at her hands, her feet, her old room, her old desk. Anywhere but Linhardt's eyes.

"You shouldn't have to feel guilty for Edelgard's sake," Linhardt said quietly. "Fate has brought us here, brought the professor back to us. This war... only a selfish coward would run away from this chance to end it. Funny coming from me, but even I have enough conscience to see this as a necessary opportunity.

"If anything," Linhardt paused, his voice becoming gentle. "If anything, the fact that you're more afraid than the rest of us, the fact that you continue to do what is necessary in the face of all your doubts and internal strife is a testament to your incredible courage and strength of character."

Bernadetta felt her heart quicken and her cheeks become warm with blood at her classmate's earnest compliment. She couldn't think of what to say, and Linhardt's expectant silence didn't help either. She felt awkward in that silence, and before the setting could become unbearable she looked up and saw her once friend, classmate and ally examining her clinically.

"Interesting," Linhardt said, a hand coming up to cup his chin, "Five years ago you would have picked me up and thrown me out of this room."

Bernadetta's palms began to sweat, and she felt her face becoming even hotter than it had been. A tint of indignant anger welled up in her chest, mixing with the embarrassment. Her instincts were telling her to do exactly what Linhardt had just described.

Biting her tongue and then swallowing slowly, Bernadetta managed to firmly keep her gaze on Linhardt's eyes. "People change. I would like to be alone now. Please leave my room."

Without a backward glance, Linhard turned and walked to the door. His shadow flickered in the candlelight, and it extended all the way up to the ceiling. He paused, hand frozen on the latch. "It's an improvement," he commented.

"Linhardt, please." Bernadetta begged.

Linhardt left quickly without further prompting, closing the door behind him with a gentle click. Bernadetta sighed a breath of relief as her nerves began to calm. She was doing better, but her heart still raced and her palms were still wet with the familiar nervousness.

Just as she was beginning to relax into the solitude of her beloved room, a loud knock on the door made her jump.

"Bernadetta! Hey! Are you in there?!"

It was Caspar, and for a moment, Bernadetta wasn't sure how she should answer. She wanted to be alone, to have reprieve from having to deal with people. Maybe if she stayed quiet, Caspar would go away.

"I saw Linhardt walk out! He told me that you were inside! Bernadetta?! You're in there right?! We need to talk!"

_You like him._ A familiar voice whispered to her, and she froze. _You want him to come in._

Bernadetta flopped onto her bed, trying to hide from herself.

_No I don't!_

_Yes you do. You like him._

Bernadetta wanted to sink into the tattered mattress, but the more she tried to silence that voice, the more it protested. _You like him. Yes you do. Yes you do._ The thoughts made her feel as if she were dying of embarrassment. He would reject her and judge her and laugh at her. Even just imagining it was like having a pike stabbed through her chest. Was it strange that she would rather die on the battlefield with an actual pike in her heart?

It would be worse than death, she thought, gathering her courage in the same breath.

"I'm here, Caspar," she called.

* * *

Twelve leagues north of Garreg Mach, Annette was having a dream. She dreamed that she was standing in a large pool of water darker than the darkest obsidian. There was no reflection and nothing but endless pitch in all directions. Annette shouted for help, but the darkness swallowed even her voice. The only sound she could hear was an occasional dripping in the distance. _Drip_.

She began walking, searching for that noise. There were ripples on the water, but they weren't coming from her. Her feet didn't cause even the slightest disturbance on the water's surface. "Who's there?! Anyone?!" she called. _Drip_. She was getting closer. The sound echoed louder as she got closer to its source.

A shape merged out of the darkness, and Annette squinted, trying her best to make it out. She kept walking, closer and closer, as if being compelled by something beyond her control. _Drip_.

The thing started to take shape. The vague outlines of something familiar-

Annette gasped as she recognized what it was she was seeing. At the same time, her feet were propelling her forward even faster than before._ It's my fault._

The hair came first. Smooth, white and familiar. The mouth came next. It was fixed in a silent scream. "Help me," It gasped. "Help!"

The eyes came last. They were sad and crying. Annette couldn't stop looking at the eyes. The eyes of her friend who she knew was already dead.

Blood fell from the neck where it had been severed, splashing into the otherwise undisturbed pool of darkness below. She had found the source of the dripping, and the ripples soared past her feet in large, expanding rings

"Help me," the head wheezed. "Help me."

"Ashe…" Annette felt tears begin to well in her eyes. "I'm so sorry."

She woke up to the sound of chirping insects and boots marching outside her tent. Her breath was harsh and ragged, and a cold sweat caused her hair to cling damply to her forehead. She was crying, she realized, and she wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her wrist in an attempt to calm herself down.

"Annette, what's wrong?"

Her tentmate who was sleeping to her side sat up. Annette saw her friend stretch her arms out and yawn, the woman's creamy hair somehow remaining perfect in spite of the unforgiving surfaces on which they'd slept. Annette closed her eyes and laid back down with a sigh. All the endless days and sleepless nights on the march were probably getting to her.

"Hey Mercedes," Annette greeted with as much cheer as she could muster. "Just a bad dream."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Mercedes' voice had a soothing effect that helped to somewhat clear away the tension left from the nightmare.

"It was Ashe," she said. Tears again. Two years had already passed and her emotions were still embroiled in what had happened. "I saw him," she explained as she slowly brought her emotions back into control. "Or his head, rather. It was pretty gruesome. He was begging for help, Mercedes. He was suffocating."

"Oh Annette," Mercedes sounded like she wanted to say more, but she hesitated.

"I know we've talked about this already. How I can't keep blaming myself. How I shouldn't keep beating myself up over it. Blah-blah. I get it, but-" Annette found her voice caught in her throat as she started to cry again. "But he didn't deserve to die like that."

Mercedes had scooted to her side and began stroking her hair. "There, there. It's okay to cry. Just let it out."

"I could have helped him!" Annette sobbed.

"I know," Mercedes agreed.

"I should've been there for him!" Annette wailed, her vision completely obscured by an unstoppable stream of tears.

"You were doing the best that you could," Mercedes comforted.

Annette sat up and wrapped her arms around her friend. She squeezed tightly, burying her face into Mercedes' immaculate shawl. The forests of Garret Mach was apparently causing painful memories to resurface. Mercedes held her quietly as her emotions ran their course, occasionally smoothing a hand down her back to comfort her in the darkness.

Eventually, her sobbing rolled to a halt.

Annette sniffed as she released her friend from her over-tight grasp. "Sorry for ruining your shawl, Mercedes," she muttered, embarrassed.

"You don't have to apologize. It's just a shawl," Mercedes said gently. "I can always wash it."

"You're right," Annette said as a sudden inspiration struck her. "Hey, why don't I wash it for you?"

"It's okay, you don't-"

"Of course I do!" Annette snapped to her feet and began tugging at the offending article of clothing. "Here, take it off. I'll go wash it right now!"  
"Annette!" Mercedes was alarmed, but she surrendered the shawl.

"I'll have it ready for you in the morning," Annette whispered and quickly ducked outside.

There was enough of a moon for her to find her way to the supply cart. Picking out a bucket and a spigoted barrel, she started to fill the bucket when a small ripple of magic suddenly piqued her senses.

"What in the world?" Dropping the shawl carefully into the bucket to soak. She had always been sensitive to magic, and the spell that had been cast was laden with it. Almost like it wanted to be noticed.

Following the numb feeling of recognition pulsing through her veins, Annette slowly crawled through the forest grounds. It was in one of the tents. A warp spell? It had felt like a warp spell.

"General!" A soldier saluted suddenly, making her jump in surprise.

"Whoa," Annette said in a low voice after she quickly regained her composure. "You surprised me."

"My apologies!"

Annette winced. "Not so loudly," she whispered. "People are sleeping here!"

"My apo-!" The soldier stopped himself before he could finish. "Oh," he whispered almost conspiratorially. "Understood, general."

Annette nodded. "I felt some suspicious magic earlier, and I think it's in one of these tents. I need you to check with me. Back me up or something in case it's some assassin person. Got it?"

"Understood, general," the soldier said, still whispering. Annette briefly sized up the man. Terris, she remembered his name was. Terris was a tall, gangly man whose proficiency with a spear was excellent. Not on par with Ingrid, of course, but still nothing to be scoffed at. His long limbs gave him an advantage over most of his peers, and he was never shy to use them to his full advantage. He would be useful in a skirmish.

"Here we are," Annette whispered, pointing at their leader's tent. Wait. What? "Oh no," she rushed forward in a panic. A warp-assassination? There was no way they would have known the coordinates. The guards standing outside the tent were oblivious. No, they would have heard. The air displacement that an assassin's body would have caused is impossible to miss. Warps were very noisy, and it would've woken Dimitri instantly.

"What's going on?" Annette whispered to herself as she walked up to Dimitri's guards. The men of the Blue Lion Corps glared at her suspiciously. "General Annette," she announced herself. "I have business here." She could still feel faint traces of the magic lingering from the tent. It had been a powerful spell. Surely someone-

Dimitri stormed out of his tent a half-second before the guards could reply. He was fully armed and ready for battle. There was a terrible light in his eyes that made Annette stagger back a step.

"Your Majesty!" the guards saluted instantly.

"At ease," Dimitri growled impatiently. "Annette, wake the camp," he commanded as he brushed past her. "It's time to move."

"Wait, hold on. Move? Where?"

He paused and turned back to face her. There was a scrap of paper in his hand which he handed to her; the source of the magic.

"To Garreg Mach Monastery," he said, his impatience almost suffocating as she tried to read the missive.

"I need a light," she said, and immediately, one of the guards had a lantern in her face.

_Edelgard has secured the central Monastery with her commanders and two thousand men. Caspar and I are trapped. Requesting reinforcements._

_Bernadetta_

She read the letter twice, scrutinizing the words.

"This could be a trap. It was sent to your tent by a warp spell. Warp staves are extremely rare, and I can count on one hand the number of mages who are capable of casting that spell."

Dimitri frowned, his temperament falling a notch as he scrutinized the letter.

"That's Bernadetta's handwriting," he said after a long moment. "You can tell by the sweat-prints on the sides. They must have left the camp the moment we turned in. We don't have time to waste."

A cluster of Dimitri's men were forming. Dimitri's Corps seemed to move and breathe as he did. "Find Generals von Bergliez and Varley," he commanded. "If you cannot find them, wake the camp. Prepare to march to battle."

"I'll go get my people," Annette announced.

Dimitri nodded, the eerie, threatening look that he'd worn earlier temporarily smoothed over by an impassive mask. It was a look that she knew very well. Dimitri von Blaiddyd had a certain mood that he sometimes got into, one that spelled death and destruction for all who stood in his way.

Edelgard was usually involved when Dimitri became like that.

The last time they had seen the Bloody Emperor was eleven months ago on the scorched remains of the fields of Reven. Reven was an important agricultural asset of Faerghus, one over which they'd fought for eighteen days. It was the war's bloodiest campaign, and they'd battled for every inch, every village. The Empire couldn't hold the land, but rather than allow Faerghus to win back Reven and its resources, the Bloody Emperor had burned all that she could before every retreat. Fifty thousand men, women and children had died in those eighteen days, more than any battle they'd ever fought. The farms were ruined, the fields were burned and the citizens were slaughtered. Edelgard had retreated from that campaign, but the victory she'd handed to the King of Faerghus had been poisoned and empty.

Eleven months ago, Dimitri had looked as if he would kill the first person who dared to approach him. He had given orders to be left alone after the Battle of Reven, and his hands had been trembling with rage for days. The promise he had spoken to her so casually when she'd tried to calm him down suddenly echoed in her memory.

_I swear to all the gods if you do not leave right now, I will tear your useless, pretty head from off your shoulders. I will crush it and force Mercedes to drink from your neck. Try me, Annette. I dare you._

He had been angry, but he had sounded like he had been in control, like he hadn't been possessed by some sort of demon even though he was. Annette still wasn't sure whether or not he would have made good on that promise. The awful way he had looked at her was imprinted permanently into her memory; a cold dismissive fury that scared her almost as much as the Bloody Emperor did.

_If we kill her, then we end the war, and it will all be over. Then Dimitri won't have to become like that anymore._

The thought wasn't as compelling as she'd hoped it to be. She couldn't shake the bad feeling that something was going to go terribly wrong. The warp spell. She couldn't explain it. They were an army six thousand strong: the enemy was outnumbered three to one.

It was almost as if the report had been written to intentionally draw their forces in.

Her battalion was ready, and as she shouted for them to check their gear, a nagging feeling began to form at the back of her mind. She was forgetting something.

"General, we're ready," her battalion lead called to her. Annette nodded as she remembered what it was she'd forgotten. It was Mercedes' shawl.

"Form up under Ingrid's command," she said. "I'm going to check the supplies."

She'd left it soaking in that bucket. The shawl wasn't as important as the life-and-death situation they were preparing for, but somehow, she couldn't bring herself to let it go

* * *

**A/N: Heh. Frozen pun because, well, Annette is discount Anna. Obviously. Anyway, a few weeks ago I deleted a chapter update about five minutes after I put it up; it was so poorly written I couldn't bear to leave it there. Sorry about the false notification.**


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